


Travelers

by silvereyedbitch



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvereyedbitch/pseuds/silvereyedbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the confrontation with Calesta. A fic of mine that involves Gerald doing what he does best...thinking. How to divert the path humanity is on? Hmmmm....time travel maybe? LOL! It's not quite as dorky as it sounds...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Setting/Timeline :** Takes place after the confrontation with Calesta. The Iezu mother resuscitates Tarrant in the only manner of life known to her, and so he is resuscitated in his immortal form and with all the usual powers as I have recounted in previous stories of mine. Tarrant is now like unto an Iezu in that he feeds off of a human emotion that is particular to his being, which for him is of course, fear. He need not be the one to inspire it or kill for it now, though. He has not quite rehabilitated himself because of this, however. So far, for him, it is just another interesting peculiarity to be studied. He tells Damien none of these revelations about himself, though. They return to the castle to find Andrys as in the original ending. However, Karril intervenes one last time and creates an illusion for the Tarrant descendent of his success in revenging his family. The illusory head of the Hunter is then brought out for the masses to behold and conveniently thrown in the fire where it can’t be recovered. The crowds disperse the next day, and the Patriarch still performs his sacrifice to sever the connection that causes the fae to respond to the minds of men. They do not decide to burn the Forest. Meanwhile, Damien assists Gerald to the upper levels of the keep and makes sure he will recover before setting off for Jaggonath to finally give his accounting of events. Gerald is left with nothing to do except think, which is something he happens to be very _very_ good at, and ponder the evolution of his church. And his analyses lead to conclusions about the state of the world that shock him. He has discovered that mankind is in very real danger…

**Travelers**

_Mine_! Tarrant thought angrily as he gazed out over the Forest’s dark center. But the leafy verdance was not the subject of his thinking. His line of sight was fixated in the direction of Jaggonath. The church. _His_ church. _His_ creation. _They have ruined it_! _Worse, they have destroyed us all_! he fumed. That accursed Patriarch, and his damned sacrifice. Already the change was beginning within the fae. Soon, humanity would lose its connection with this world’s most unique property. And all would suffer for it. It was not the eventual loss of the fae Tarrant was angered by, far from it. Any previously existing Workings, such as the one sustaining him, would continue to exist so there was no cause for concern there. In fact, his vision for the church had involved an eventual subjugation of the fae to a point in which the collective mind of man would terminate its fluid existence, trapping it within the confines of the God figure they would have created. This would have rendered the fae powerless within the world except to the benefit of mankind. What the Patriarch had done, though, was different. He had sacrificed himself in order to create a world in which the fae would simply no longer respond to man. No fae-spawned demonlings would roam the night. No false gods and goddesses would collect worshippers. Effective? Yes. _But so shortsighted_ , he thought. _It is only a matter of time before the fae adapts itself to this change_.

No creature on Erna could long endure without aid of the adaptive properties of this natural substance. Not even man. Tarrant had assimilated all this shortly after emerging from the keep two days after his confrontation with Andrys. A simple Knowing confirmed the state of things, along with his other methods of reconnaissance. _It will see us as intruders, a virus, to be expunged from this world. Most likely it will create predators of man from the native species already in existence. Or perhaps it will craft diseases to which we have no defense. Thus, it will not destroy us directly, but through the future actions of its creations. In a few short generations, it could mold anything to this purpose. Technology will not have advanced far enough to defend against all that the fae can create, and without access to its special defensive properties ourselves…we will become but a short segment of this planet’s history_ , _as extinct as our Terran ancestors_.

Where had everything gone so very wrong? Tarrant mulled over the church’s development prior to his joining it. It had been an excellent concept, which was what had drawn him to it. It had almost no followers when he had joined. The doctrines were loosely tied to Earth history and beliefs, which was comforting to those who created it, but it would not serve on this sentient planet. Thus, he had begun his greatest life’s work, creating and growing the belief system that had endured a millennium. And it was almost perfected! His dream had almost been realized! He had seen it himself, known it in his soul, that night with Vryce and Jenseny when his God appeared in their defense. No matter how the memory might pain him, he saw in it a strange sort of redemption. No matter how corrupt his soul had become, still something _he_ had created would finally become the salvation of mankind. But now…now mankind’s days were numbered. There was nothing their newly materialized, non-interceding God could do to prevent this. The Patriarch had completed his ritual sacrifice well and completely.

He continued his analysis of the evolution of the church over the next few days, taking notes as he felt it warranted. The belief that the fae was evil had taken root just before his transformation. Oh, humanity had always held it to be of bad nature in general, but no one had yet taken a strong moral stance against it. The hatred of it by the church seemed to have been solidified by his sacrifice, though. It appeared that this act had been the tipping point for the indoctrination of the fae into the annals of evil because it became more widely publicized to the masses as such. No matter the angle he chose to examine the situation from, all sources pointed to that event as the turning point of the church’s mind. That their own Prophet had succumbed to the dark temptations of the fae had created a hatred of mythic proportions within the church hierarchy. New doctrine was inserted slowly over the next decades that began to fade his name and the practice of “sorcery” from the church records. Eventually, over many decades, his name became lost to time and the fae became the evil that they all must fear and fight against, even as the ignorant masses utilized it to create the very God they worshipped.

Tarrant sighed into night air and leaned on his elbows across the stone ledge of the balcony. “What is there left to do but concede victory to this world of ours?” he whispered into the chill air. _I cannot change the past_. Closing his eyes, he was about to turn to retire to his study, when a thought hit him. His eyes snapped open, and he stood erect, a sharp intake of breath his only sound. Long moments passed as his silver eyes blazed with ideas. _Would it work_? he thought. Then, as a ghost of a smile flashed across his face, he countered, _Not would…WHEN. When can I make it work?_ He was nothing if not vain about his brilliance. He turned and raced to his study. There was much research to do on this topic. All of the possible loopholes, contradictions, and questions concerning the occupation of space and time would need to be addressed. It would take some days, he was sure of that at least. He was thorough, so thorough in everything. _If I should, perchance, fail, then there should be at least one backup in place for this_. There was too much at stake to lay this upon one man, even if he _was_ brilliant. _I will not have my creation be the fall of everything I have worked my life to achieve. I will not watch as it crumbles before me simply because shortsighted imbeciles cannot fathom the possible repercussions of their actions_.

Reaching his study, he ran to the back of it and began collecting books from the shelves. Throwing them onto the large alteroak desk, he pulled out pen, paper, and calculation devices both standard and self-created, and began formulating his most ambitious sorcerous work to date, probably the most ambitious of any man _ever_. They had once told him that true invisibility was impossible, and he had been able to prove that wrong. Now, to take it one step further…time travel. _Yes, it will work. I only need to find the proper coordinates, the precise method of execution, and ensure the contradictory influences of paradox will be negated. Combining it with a significant sacrifice will be the tricky part. Also…damn!_ His thoughts trailed off for a moment. _This is going to require some workings of religious significance and participation as well._ Since the Patriarch had changed the fae’s innate response to man, the only way to gain access to perform workings of this caliber anymore was through the utilization of the newly empowered God. And soon, even this avenue would close as the sacrifice cemented its will further until the fae was no longer accessible except to the God alone. He pondered this problem for hours before finally reaching a conclusion. _I need Vryce. He alone will see the necessity of this…and he alone will be willing to help me…he always does. Damn you, priest! Even in your absence you vex me to no end! This will be very complicated as it stands now, and to accomplish this all within the presence of another…well, we shall see…_ He made notes as the thoughts flew through his mind, as usual they were faster than his pen could keep pace with. After several more hours, he had finished the initial series of sorcerous calculations and incantations that helped to prove his theory possible. Satisfied with the first results of his algorithm, he leaned back and mused to himself, _Now, how am I going to get Vryce to return to the time of my natural life with me? And with the most likely result being that both of us have to remain there once our mission concludes? That may be more difficult than all of these calculations combined!_

He almost laughed aloud at the thought…almost. The man was insufferable at times, but he was possessed of a steadfastness and courage that few ever had. He was loyal to a fault and knowledgeable in a fight. Most useful of all, though, was how Tarrant knew Vryce felt about him. _Ah, the confusion_ , he thought. Vryce had no idea that the Hunter had seen so profoundly into his heart and mind that his deepest and most rigorously hidden desires were laid bare. Vryce had no weak points to attack otherwise. He was the perfect church knight. Strong in faith and arm. But when it came to Gerald Tarrant…there were so many layers of confusion and desperate flights of ideas that no sane man should have ever been able to interpret them. But the _Hunter_ had translated them. And the Hunter knew that Damien Vryce would follow him to the ends of Erna and beyond because of a deeply buried collection of feelings that one _could_ call love…if one were so inclined. All it needed was a little nurturing to help it along. Currently, Vryce was simultaneously repelled and drawn to Tarrant because of the combination of good and evil twisted within the adept’s soul. If the evil were to be suppressed somewhat, perhaps even be shown to be vulnerable…what possibilities there were for warping a certain knight’s immortal spirit! Tarrant was no fool to his own emotions, though, and he had felt some of the same affections growing within himself during their time together. How he had fought this! Time and again the knight’s morals and humanity had seeped into the Hunter’s actions and considerations. It had complicated things so horridly for Tarrant at times, sending him so close to breaking his contract that he could practically feel the heat of the Unnamed’s hell on his shoulders. His methods for translating love into anger and hate, though, were almost foolproof, and so he did not fear this reunion between them. Lying back on the lounging chair with pen and paper, he began a letter that would be sent to summon Vryce to Merentha Castle. _We use what tools we must_ , mused the Hunter. _Ah, priest, you don’t stand a chance!_

Weeks passed, during which Tarrant perfected and created his plan for mankind’s salvation. It was still a bit off from perfection, but it was closing together at the seams now. He had found that one could only incant a time casting that covered one’s own lifespan. And so, Tarrant had plenty of wiggle room here, being almost a millennium in age. Bringing another person through with you appeared to be generally feasible as well, even if it was not along his or her lifetime. It seemed only the caster’s lifespan was considered by the fae. The proper sacrifice had taken time to elucidate, but Tarrant was sure now that his identity as the Hunter and the Neocount both should be quite sufficient. And, as he had already surmised, heartfelt prayer for the sheer necessity of the casting was necessary in order to make the fae accessible on such a large scale in the first place. Yes, it was coming together finally. Another week or so should see his calculations and hypotheses concluded. Then, perhaps an experiment could be run.

Finally, early one evening a lone rider appeared at the edge of the Forest. _At last_ , thought Tarrant. He sent out a peaceful signal through the woodlands, making it known to allow an unmolested passage to the rider. Even so, it still took the better part of the night and well into the next day before the rider made it through to the castle. As the rider arrived in the inner courtyard, he dismounted and secured his horse to the railing. Then he approached the large doors after glancing around the area. Always on guard, especially here. They opened on silent hinges to admit him, revealing a darkened interior hall. Hesitating only slightly, Damien Vryce walked through the entry portal and into a semblance of the Revivalist era, or so it appeared inside.

Catching sight of a familiar figure within, Damien said, “Greeting me yourself this time? Could the staff not put up with you anymore?” Walking to within feet of the knight, Tarrant showed no expression as he replied, “I am merely expediting our meeting. This time around, I have no need to be quite so dramatic.” Turning, Tarrant began walking briskly in the direction of the back hall, “If you will follow me, I will instruct you as to why you were requested here.” He realized, though, that there were no accompanying footsteps behind him. Pausing, he turned and saw Vryce standing with arms crossed staring daggers at him. Apparently, he didn’t like this abrupt treatment. _Time to show some “vulnerability” I suppose_ , he sighed inwardly. “Vryce…Damien…I _do_ appreciate that you came here, that you didn’t ignore my plea.” Damien looked shocked for a moment, “Plea? I didn’t gather that from the message, it seemed more like a general command to show up. What’s wrong?” He was slowly beginning to move towards the Hunter _. As a moth to the flame_ , thought Tarrant. “Please, it is…easier to explain when I have visual guides to assist my explanation,” Tarrant added, and he began walking to his study again, slower this time around. And the footsteps followed, as he knew they would.

When reaching the study, Tarrant motioned for Damien to be seated and spoke, “I admit I am curious as to the reception you received when you returned to make your report, priest.” He poured two glasses of brandy and placed one in front of Vryce. The other man looked at it for minute and then picked it up, cradling it in both hands, but not drinking. Tarrant continued to speak, “ I imagine they didn’t care much for the company you kept, but I’m quite sure they heaped the rewards upon you for helping to bring such a dark personage to justice; and at the hands of Andrys Tarrant no less.” The Hunter’s speech ended at the look that flashed across the knight’s face. “What is it? Surely you’ve reported back by now? The new Patriarch was installed within a week of the last one’s death,” Tarrant demanded. Damien was still quiet, but he knew Tarrant wouldn’t let up without some kind of explanation. Sighing, Damien leaned forward from the couch where he was seated and placed his forearms on his knees. Looking at the ground, he said in a low voice, “They excommunicated me, Tarrant. They had already held the trial in my absence. Oh sure, publically they called it voluntary retirement and gave me a place to stay while I sorted out my arrangements, but the end result is the same. They wanted me gone. The new Patriarch told me himself in a private meeting that he believed I had spent too long in the dark to ever fully recover the trusts I once held.” He paused for second and then looked up at the Hunter, who was silently standing in the shadows. He continued, “I guess you could say I’m in between jobs right now, only my qualifications have been taken away so that I can’t ever truly work as a knight anymore. Hell, I’m no longer even an official member of the congregation!” Damien trailed off into silence after that statement, lost in his own guilt and sorrow, and stared at the stoneworked floor.

Tarrant was taken aback by this development. He would never understand people, even with his unique age perspective. It was wrong what the Patriarch had done to this man. However, this would work out for the better for his plans anyway. With Vryce cut loose from the church, he would have no purpose. _We are the same, he and I_ , he thought to himself, _Lost and adrift in a new world that no longer needs us._ Discontinuing his internal monologue, he looked toward the other man, “I am…sorry for the misfortune my acquaintance with you seems to have brought with it, Vryce. They are fools to cast aside so strong and loyal a church servant.” Feeling the pain emanating from the former priest, the Hunter felt a strange twinge inside. Surprised at how the other man’s pain was affecting him, Tarrant changed the subject, “This may all become irrelevant anyway. I have done much research since you and I parted weeks ago, and I am convinced of a very real and very dire threat that has arisen from the sacrifice of the late Patriarch.” With a slightly bewildered look at the topic change, Damien asked, “What can you possibly mean? Isn’t this what you had aimed for all along? Your vision for the church should soon come to pass, and _you_ will be here to witness its accomplishment. Isn’t that what you wanted, all those centuries ago?” Tarrant took a long look at the man in front of him and then stepped forward and around to sit in the chair opposite him, bringing their eyes level with one another. “I am going to tell you some things, Vryce, that you may not like or believe. Given their source, you may not want to trust these revelations either. But listen to everything before you ask any questions or interrupt. You know I have never lied to you, and this is deadly important.” The serious tone brought Damien out of self-pity mode, and he locked his attention dead on to Gerald Tarrant. “Tell me,” he commanded. And so, Tarrant recounted the last few weeks’ worth of introspection, that led to discovery, that led to theory, that led to the solution…time travel. Tarrant would return to when he had caused the church to break away from the fae so violently and thus prevent the negative indoctrination. If he was careful, he could even plant positive things instead just in case. Perhaps there was a way to incorporate the fae into the religion itself to ensure this.

Damien was speechless as he listened to Tarrant’s recounting of his suppositions and experimentations. If anyone else in the world had even suggested such a thing to him, he would have laughed, walked away, and never thought of it again. Gerald Tarrant, though…this man had done more, accomplished more, than any other human could even dream of. He had survived the ages, outwitted demons, fought the fury of winter storms at sea, changed nature itself in his Forest, and changed the feelings of a man whom Damien had thought was the most devout and stubborn knight dedicated to eradicating evil from this planet…perhaps that was the most difficult challenge of all. And the adept didn’t even seem aware of it. These things just happened for him; it was natural. While Damien couldn’t comprehend most of the calculations and sorcery involved, he _did_ understand that Tarrant was more than capable of making just about anything happen. And…he _had_ never lied to him. From what little he could understand, it all _did_ seem possible, if not easily so. And then Tarrant was finished, and waiting for his response.

“Okay…okay. There are plenty of questions begging to get out, and I’m sure there will be many more cropping up later. So…let me start with a few basics. Why me? What happens when we get there? Why aren’t you afraid of the paradoxical results that are bound to occur to _this_ time once we begin changing the past? And how exactly do you plan on convincing _yourself_ to change his, (your?), ways?” Damien finished. Tarrant leaned back in his chair and looked at Vryce over steepled fingers. “You, Vryce, because who else is there who is of the church that would _willingly_ ally with me? It _must_ be willingly, or else the prayer of supplication will not draw the fae as I propose to do. Upon our arrival, we will do as we would during any kind of covert mission. Establish a base of operations and study our quarry from within the natural habitat. I still have enough currency from that period and free gemstones for trade that should allow us to accomplish these things without arousing suspicion. I have a half-formed plan for meeting our goal once there, but until we return to the time period in question and assess the situation ourselves, it is a moot point to discuss it because it could easily become invalidated. And as for the paradoxes…well, here is the tricky part, Vryce. You wonder that if we change things back then, then perhaps when we return to our own time, something might have happened along the centuries such as you never being born. This would then beg the question of whether or not _you_ would then cease to exist.”

Tarrant was quiet as he gathered what he needed to say. Damien allowed him the space for thought, saying nothing. When Tarrant spoke again, it was hushed. “The truth, Vryce, is very difficult. As it is, we cannot know that something like that will _not_ happen. None of my experiments have elucidated this point. However, I do know that even if _you_ were to kill your ancestor from that time period while we are _there_ , it would not affect you as long as you _stayed_ in that past time period. Because once you arrive in that time, you are a part of it unless you leave, and so the future you might alter _then_ will not affect _you_ because you have now become a part of the past. Do you understand it thus far?” And Damien nodded slowly. Tarrant continued on then, mercurial eyes fixed on hazel ones, as he whispered just loud enough for the other to hear, “And so, since we cannot know the repercussions of our actions on our current time period, you would have to remain there with me…and never come back.”

Damien blew out a loud burst of breath in shared exasperation, “I had a feeling that you were going to say something to that effect.” They both sat in silence as each considered the implications of the journey. The only sound being the crackling of a fire lit in the back part of the study. After a while, Tarrant shifted positions and leaned forward. He looked decidedly uncomfortable as he said, “I will understand if you choose not to, Vryce. There are so many variables that I have no knowledge of in your life. But here is another truth for you, though: even if there _were_ another individual who could make this journey possible, I would still choose you…every time.” Tarrant stood and went over to the fire after finishing his confession. Damien watched him go. The adept’s tall form was silhouetted to his eyes now because of the fire he stood in front of. One long, slender hand was placed on the mantle above the fireplace, the other hung limply at his side. _He doesn’t want me to know how desperate he is that I go with him_ , Damien thought with a start.

Tarrant gazed into the fire. Feeling its heat and not having it result in horrible pain was still a source of fascination to him. From behind, he heard a deep, but soft voice say, “I’ll do it.” An almost-smile crossed the Hunter’s lips, _You’re mine, priest…soon_. Forcing his face back into its accustomed non-smiling façade, he turned to face Damien. “If you need more time to consider...” he began, but Damien interrupted, “No. I believe you…about everything. I knew it was all too good to be true. One man’s sacrifice creating the _perfect_ world for mankind? Fixing every mistake? It seems ridiculous now...like a hope born of desperation. But before I left Jaggonath, I had heard whispers of a new flu-like illness that was making its way through the countryside. There were already a few cases cropping up in the city itself. The mortality rate was said to be around 85%, which is unheard of nowadays. Healers couldn’t cleanse it, they could only manage symptoms. But that isn’t enough for this. Even with the symptoms managed, it still kills. Now, you tell me your theory about the fae adapting to be able to rid itself of us. I don’t know about you, but I’m drawing some parallels here…”

Tarrant shivered, “Already. So fast. I had no idea that it could move so quickly.” Damien stood and came over to where the adept was standing. “Yeah, well, we’ve got a way to fix this, right? This may not be exactly giving my _life_ for the church and mankind, but I guess it’ll be pretty similar. I was always ready for the former, so why not this?” Damien ended with a smile and a shrug. _So like you, priest, to take everything in stride. So strong and willful. So willing to give of yourself for others. Well, here is your chance. And this time, you may give all of yourself for me_ , floated through Tarrant’s mind _. Ah,such deception. I’m sorry I can never tell you what I truly intend, priest. You would never condone it. It would actually be hilarious to see you try to stop me from killing **myself** , though!_

Another two weeks passed as they made their preparations. News trickled in concerning the quickly spreading illness. People were beginning to move in to the cities out of fear, which only spread the condition faster. There wasn’t widespread panic…yet. But that was only a matter of time. Damien did his best to ignore his desire to go try to help those sick individuals. He knew he couldn’t do anything, but it felt wrong to not even try. After all, it wasn’t as if he was any _real_ use here at the castle. All he did was provide an actual person for Tarrant to have one-sided conversations and arguments with concerning sorcerous properties that made his head spin. The food was good, though. And you couldn’t beat living in a castle with servants who attended to everything for you. It was a bit unnerving for him at first, but now that he had learned most of their names, he was more comfortable around them. Tarrant would join him in the dining hall in the evenings for dinner. Or at least, it appeared he was there for dinner. It seemed to Damien that the man never did more than pick at his plate and sip a few snatches of wine. _Well, he’s never been a bulky man_ , thought Damien, _I guess this is why_.

Come to think of it, he never saw the man eat at any other time, and he was with him most of the day, every day. Always, after dinner, Tarrant would bid him goodnight, and he could never seem to find where he went after that. Suddenly, Damien was suspicious. There was no way anyone could live off of the meager bits that Tarrant seemingly consumed day after day. That could only leave one reason why the man was inaccessible after dark…

At dinner that night, Damien looked across at the adept. _How could I have been so stupid?_ he berated himself. Looking down at the brazed pheasant on his plate, he became sickened. Looking back at Tarrant, he challenged, “Where do you go at night? What are you feeding off of?” Tarrant put down his fork and pushed the plate away. “Blunt as usual. I had wondered when you would notice, Vryce. Truly, I’m surprised it took so long.” _I can’t believe he so blindly trusted me!_ “I am indeed finding sustenance from other sources. And yes, it is as you dread. I still find strength in the fear of others.” Damien stood up so fast that the chair was knocked over in his doing so. “Damn it, Tarrant! Not again! I can’t be party to more murders of yours! Damn!” Leaning over the table, Damien said, “You’re sick, you know that? The one person who would help you, and you’ve done probably the only thing possible that would drive me away.” Quick as a thought, Tarrant was gone from in front of him. “Whuh?” Damien stuttered, standing erect again. “Behind you, priest,” a silken whisper came across his shoulder. He spun to face the Hunter, who was obviously not concerned about the need for personal space. Barely inches existed between them as the adept said, “You condemn me before I even say anything in explanation. How very priestly of you, Damien Vryce. You know me so very well, then, that you can predict my moves before I make them? I am automatically guilty of such atrocities before evidence is even presented?” Damien gulped. What was the man’s game? Was he in danger? Would the Hunter have led him here just to end up killing him shortly after? His heart raced. At this proximity, and with the preternatural strength and speed Tarrant possessed, Damien would be hard-pressed to raise any defense if necessary. He could feel the cold chill emanating from that lean form in front of him as though the fire wasn’t even present in the room.

“I, uh, that is…damn it man! What would you have me believe?!” Damien finally managed to choke out. Tarrant chuckled silently to himself as he stepped slightly away, “Vryce, you are still so entertaining to rile up. Here, this will clarify things easier for you than mere words.” As he spoke, Tarrant raised a graceful finger up to Damien’s left jawline and placed it there. The cold didn’t burn as it used to upon that contact, and Damien was unsure if this was necessarily a good thing. Then, memories flooded his mind in the form of a Sharing centered upon the time after they had recently parted. Tarrant, watching him leave the castle. The Hunter, returning to the cities in search of prey, stalking the night-shrouded cobbleways in search of the perfect specimen. Anger filled Damien as he began to believe that proof of his accusation was before him. Then, the Hunter, as he later set a woman free, as whole in mind and body as before the Hunt. The adept seemed confused and lost in thought as the woman stumbled away from the Forest. Confused himself, Damien paid closer attention as more memories came to him. In the Hunter’s night flights and hunts, he watched as Tarrant deciphered that outright cruelty and the death of hope no longer fed his power. Only the fear that came naturally from his hunted ones supplied him. Even the ambient fear that plagued the cities fed him to a small degree. So, his existence had changed fundamentally when he was brought back by the Iezu mother. Interesting. What other secrets were hidden within this twisted soul before him? Suddenly, the memories ceased before he could delve any further into his last mode of thinking.

Blinking as his real vision resumed in the study, and feeling slightly dizzy, Damien gathered his thoughts once more. “Alright. I was wrong. Sorry. But can you _really_ blame me?” Damien asked plaintively. Tarrant slid his finger along the knight’s jaw and then let his hand fall from the other man’s face. Damien could still feel the line of ice traced along his skin for minutes after. “I would have you trust me for this endeavor. You do not have to understand or like what I do. But please believe me that I still do not lie to you, and I would have us share a mutual trust,” Tarrant said stonily as he turned and began to leave the room. “Tarrant, wait,” Damien cried out, jumping forward and grabbing the Hunter’s arm. Ice crystals shot up his arm at that contact, solidifying quickly around the limb, exhibiting the Hunter’s mood. Tarrant stopped, half-turned, and plucked Damien’s hand off of his arm with one eyebrow arched up. The ice crystals immediately chipped and broke off, and warmth flooded back into his arm. Damien shook it out, and then he looked up at Tarrant, standing there still and silent as ever. “Look, I really am sorry. Ashamed really,” he admitted sheepishly. Straightening his jacket, Tarrant began walking out again, slower this time. Upon reaching the door, he stopped, facing out of the doorway and away from Damien. “I do understand, Vryce. And I…accept your apology,” he said in a strained manner before finally exiting the room. Damien was left alone in the candlelit dimness of the dining hall. Sighing, he sat back down to finish eating. _Idiot._ _What a mess I can create!_

The experiments went well. Tarrant and Damien would perform the rite on a smaller scale and send a turnip back in time a few weeks. They placed the vegetable in a corner of the building that didn’t get much attention, performed the rite, and then the turnip would disappear. In its place would be a rotted turnip that had sat out too long (apparently for a few weeks). Then, they did the same things with insect larvae. The larvae would disappear only to reappear as fully grown insects. Tarrant wanted to do human experimentation as well, but there was just no safe way to do that without risking the same sorts of paradoxes as they were trying to avoid. Also, Tarrant knew Damien would never allow him to test on a person anyway. But, the tests they had done so far confirmed the validity and operation of the rite. Now, they just needed to finish the more mundane preparations, such as money, food, and clothing. Tarrant supplied Damien with clothes more suited to the age of his mortality in order to avoid suspicious eyes following them. He also schooled Damien in the ways and mannerisms of the era. If nothing else, he could claim to be from a remote area in order to explain away his lack of local culture and customs if need be. Then, Tarrant performed a Divining of the past to assess an appropriate location to place them for the rite. This was so they wouldn’t disappear from their time only to reappear inside of a tree that had grown on that spot centuries ago. And finally, one cool night, Tarrant declared their readiness. In the morning, they would journey to about one year prior to Tarrant’s sacrifice to the Unnamed. Tarrant had chosen this time period for reasons of his own, but he informed Damien it was because this was the most pivotal time in his church participation. After this point in his personal history, he had begun the long slide into darkness.

“Are you really prepared to meet yourself in that time, Tarrant? I mean, this is _you_ we’re talking about, not some simple ordinary person after all,” Damien asked over dinner the night before. And after a second to consider his own question and its ramifications, his eyes grew large at a sudden realization. “Oh God. Your family. Gerald. What about…?” Damien began. Tarrant had grown very still when the knight began this line of conversation. Predatory in manner. His silver eyes pinned Damien to the chair. “Do not worry for my feelings or emotional state, priest. I assure you I have taken every precaution to prevent such deviations from our purpose,” he said icily, “Place your concerns elsewhere.” The air had darkened perceptibly around the adept, with the dark fae pooling around his chair. “Okay, okay. I was just asking,” Damien begged off. He picked up his fork to show that he had moved on from the topic. Tarrant, however, remained quiet throughout the remainder of the meal, and the darkness did not dissipate. _Hiding something?_ Damien wondered. Likely, he would never know, and so he bent himself to the task of appearing unobtrusive for the rest of the evening.

Morning arrived cold and crisp. Frost lined the grasses and leaves in the Forest as they walked through it. Everything had been readied and prepared for. They had enough currency, precious metals, and gemstones to start their own estate in Damien’s opinion, but looking at the fastidious personage walking beside him, he decided it was just as well that they were bringing so much. _High maintenance_ , he thought to himself. They reached the appointed area just before noon. The sun was high in the heavens above, the air cool and crisp with the beginnings of winter. Damien stabilized their packs as Tarrant set up the site for the sorcerous rites to take place. It all felt surreal to Damien. _Here I am with one of the most feared and hated beings on Erna about to jump headlong with him into a Working never done, or even imagined, before. I have, essentially, placed my life in his cold, blood covered hands,_ he thought. He shook his head. That was not a line of thinking he wanted to focus on at this moment.

After two hours of preparing the site, Tarrant declared it sufficient for their purposes. He waited while Damien consumed a quick lunch, and then he assumed his position for the rite. Damien likewise knelt down beside the adept and began his portion of the Working. He prayed. He prayed harder than he had ever before, even harder than when he had asked for aid in Jenseny’s defense. So much would depend on their success here. He broke out into a cold sweat as he felt Tarrant’s power begin to coalesce about him. It seemed as though a gray mist had entered the circle’s interior, and it was darkening as they continued. As if from a distance, he could hear Tarrant’s contributions to their Working, but it was muted. His focus was so fiercely dedicated to his task that nothing else could penetrate his web of concentration. The prayer he said was as heartfelt and willing as any that had ever been known. The pouring out of his hopes, his dreams, his fears, everything. He took it all and gave it all to God. He prayed for their success, yes, but he prayed for them individually as well. His heart swelled to bursting at the thought that Tarrant was again committing himself to something that was not entirely self-serving. In fact, it was very likely self- _destructive_. This gave him such hope for the man’s spirit that tears poured forth from his eyes as he prayed. Not that he’d ever mention any of this to Tarrant…

Tarrant, as usual, performed everything to perfection and with his usual cold calculations. Distantly, he noted the form of Damien on his knees beside him _. That’s right, priest, just a little longer and this world will no longer be your concern. There will only be me and my desires in the place we go to. You will understand why I will do what I will, just not immediately. But you will come around; you always do,_ he smiled inwardly. No more time for distracting thoughts. He summoned the gathered power into his Working, pouring everything he had into it. Then, at the most crucial point, he added the sacrifice.

The first sacrifices came from himself. His identity as the Hunter and his identity as the Neocount both burned in mystical flames and were no more. Then, he relinquished control of the Forest back to the fae. He would never be able to come back to it anyway, he had reasoned. The last sacrifice came from Damien (unbeknownst to him). His identity was forfeited as well, and burned away into the afternoon air. The priest was so focused on his own task that he did not even notice the slight change in tenor to the Working when this happened. _You will thank me later, priest, when you find yourself no longer aging, never again ailing_. Tarrant had known that the four sacrifices would be much more than was required for the time Working. And he told himself that he added that last part because he couldn’t stand waste and that the damned priest would remain useful for longer this way…

Damien was still praying when suddenly a cold hand dropped onto his shoulder, and voice whispered in his ear, “Vryce. Priest. We’re here. We made it.” Opening his eyes, Damien saw that the landscape had changed. The trees were in different positions, and they were now on a sloping incline. In the distance, he could hear running water. “Are you sure? Maybe we just jumped to a different location?” Damien suggested. Shaking his head, Tarrant knelt beside him and took hold of Damien’s forearm. “See with me, priest,” Tarrant commanded. And Damien obeyed, shifting his vision to Share with Tarrant’s own. The fae lit up around him, lifelike and sentient…and younger. Younger? Yes, it didn’t carry the same knowledge as the fae from _his_ time. This fae told stories of much smaller populations of humanity, not the widespread occupation of his own time. Absorbing this information as true was overwhelming, and he felt his head swimming. He swayed a bit and threw out his arm, catching the Hunter’s shoulder in his hand as he did. Tarrant had seen his momentary weakness as well, and had reached out and around him, then pushed him back from his knees and into a seated position, saying, “Take your time, Vryce. It is not every day that one is able to witness such things. I might add that it was my own brilliance that made this possible, but that may come out as a bit churlish.” Damien looked sharply at the man beside him, so unusual was it for him to joke. He realized then that Tarrant, too, was a bit in awe of their accomplishment and was trying to conceal this. _Uptight bastard. Always has to be stoic and mysterious no matter how amazing something is,_ Vryce thought.

After taking their bearings and cleaning up any sorcerous signs of their arrival, they began traveling towards Merentha. They passed through small towns and farming villages, thriving industrial areas and farmland. The Inns they stayed at were, of course, the standard of travel that Tarrant was used to. Damien still couldn’t quite understand why anyone would need more than one bathroom in a hotel room, much less why anyone would rent a room that was as large as an apartment for a family of five or more. But, since it didn’t hurt anything, he kept quiet. Tarrant went out at night for “reconnaissance,” but Damien knew he was really out feeding his unnatural lifesource from the fear inspired in others. He never heard of any murders in the towns they stayed in, though, and so he was fairly certain that Tarrant was holding to his word about no longer killing for food.

He had become so used to the sight of a road in front of them, and then a farm, and then a town, etc., that when they finally reached the outskirts of Merentha, he would never have known except for the sharp intake of breath from Tarrant when they crested a hill. Glancing at his traveling companion, he noticed how Tarrant’s eyes were riveted to the city walls, his body rigid with tension. Damien pretended not to notice because he knew how private a moment this must be for the adept. His thoughts were shattered as he recognized the icy presence of a hand gripping his arm. Looking first down at the hand to ascertain that, yes, the Hunter had indeed touched him, he then looked up at the man himself. Stone faced an expressionless as always, the Hunter _seemed_ his usual self. But then the light shifted slightly and Damien thought he saw…what? It was there and gone so quickly. Was it ever there at all?

After discussing boarding options, they rented a room for a month at the Blue River Inn. Tarrant said he would have preferred the Red Stag, but he had been known to frequent there in his mortal days and did not want to chance it. It would be more difficult now for them to move around due to Tarrant’s familiar features. Though his undead pallor and other such characteristics probably would differentiate him somewhat from his living self, there was no reason to chance it. In an effort to somewhat disguise himself, Tarrant Worked the fae into his hair so that it became darker and shorter, falling just past his jawline. When Damien suggested growing a beard or mustache, he had received such a look as could have frozen lava from Mount Shaitan. Now, at least it might take some long staring before someone made the connection with his identity. However, they still tried to remain in the hotel as much as possible during the middle of the day as an extra precaution.

Tarrant spent the first few days planning how to approach himself, which Damien found hilarious. This was lost upon the Hunter, who then found things for Damien to do so as not to interrupt him. Damien was sent out into the city to gather the gossip and generally just get his bearings in this new time period, leaving Tarrant alone to plan. _I wasn’t usually home during the mornings, mostly after mid-afternoon_ , Tarrant remembered. _And the most likely days to find me alone in the castle are the second and fourth days of each week_. Almea took the children to her mother’s for dinner two or three times per week while he would perform his research, experiment, or participate in church hierarchical debates. _I must be quick about it, so Damien has no time to react. And I know how suspicious I was of anyone at this point in time, so I will have to present an interesting quandary for myself to allow me within striking distance._ The fact that this past version of himself would recognize him as being at least a perfect copy should create enough of an interest for that. And once he heard of the theoretical way Tarrant had gotten here, well, the possibility of time travel sorcery would trick even the most careful of adepts into letting down their guard.

He was concluding further plans in his head one evening when he realized Damien hadn’t come in yet. The man was nothing if not dependable and so this struck him as odd. Glancing at the clock on the wall and then out the window, he realized that the other man was actually more than a few hours late. He arose from where he was sitting and walked to the window sill. _Perhaps he has finally stumbled upon something interesting,_ Tarrant thought to himself. But no, the more he thought about it the more an increasing sense of wrongness enveloped him. _Something is amiss, but what?_ he thought. Not a moment later, questing tendrils of the fae pulsed outward from him, questing throughout the city. Minutes passed, and then…there! Down near the tanneries and warehouses, the echoes of Damien’s soul rebounded back to the Hunter, pinpointing his location. And it was a moving target. Moving fast. _He is fleeing something,_ surmised Tarrant. Acting decisively, and gathering his power to himself, he made ready for his transformation as he flung the window open. Coldfire flared briefly, and then a magnificent black predatory bird could be seen exiting a window from the top of the Inn, flying fast to the west.

Damien ran. He had known he was being followed for hours prior. Each shop or bar that he stopped at made him feel ill at ease, like the spot between his shoulder blades was itching. He attempted every evasive tactic he could think of for use in a city as large and populated as this one. And he met no success. When full dark had finally arrived, after the Core had set, he finally managed to catch sight of one of his pursuers. Unfortunately, the man also saw that he was discovered. After that, they apparently needed no more secrecy. He was being herded to the west part of the city where dozens of warehouses were located. There were almost no people in the street now. He needed to make his move fast . As he passed from under the light of a torch and back into the darkness, he ducked into an alley and waited. After a few moments, several shadows passed by his location. _At least five of them. Damn!_ he thought quickly. Glancing up, he noticed that the building next to him had a very low roofline. He climbed on top of a crate, grabbed the edge of the roof, and pulled himself up onto it. Besides a few deep scratches, he made it up okay.

Keeping low against the roof so as not to outline himself against the sky, he made his way to the other side of the building and climbed down into its adjoining alleyway. He immediately regretted his decision. Two men stood not ten feet away in the shadows. The look on their faces was strange, as if they were sleeping with their eyes open. But those eyes fixed on Damien, and they began walking toward him. Cold sweat trickled down Damien’s back. He backed up a few steps, and then looked behind himself quickly. His gaze met nothing but brick, and as he turned back around, he saw three more figures approaching. _Shit! Nothing to do but fight my way through_. _No time like the present to start, might even surprise them._ He feinted at the first man to his left but rolled to the right at the last, and his fist connected solidly with the man’s blank-staring face. He dropped like a stone, moaning on his way down. The other man turned and grabbed Damien’s shoulders and received an elbow to the ribs for his efforts. He only grunted, though, and kept hold of the knight. The others reached them then, and Damien managed to twist in the man’s grip, grab his arm, and heave him in to another of his attackers. They went down in a heap but were far from incapacitated. The others waited until those two were on their feet again, all eerily silent. Then they all began to advance once more.

Damien readied himself as the first was just inches away from him, figuring he was about to find out what a cracked nut felt like. There was a flash of blue light before him, and the man went down, covered in it, smoldering before him. The others looked toward the source, the rooftop above, and Damien followed their gazes. Tarrant stood out against the night sky with his cloak billowing outward, silhouetted by the dark fae pouring over him, into him, and through him. He raised his hands again to repeat his killing strike, when a faint green light shot back towards him from the first man he had downed. It wrapped around the Hunter quickly, and he stumbled before throwing his arms out to his sides and setting himself alight in pure coldfire which blazed in the dark, but yet cast no light upon the surrounding area. When the light subsided, Damien saw Tarrant breathing hard, and perhaps a bit confused, but ready to pick it up again.

Damien chose this time to surprise the closest of his enemies. He barreled into the man, shoving him into the brick wall. The head connected to the stone behind it with a sickening pulpy crunch, and now there were two down. Turning to face the next threat, Damien was just in time to witness Tarrant’s lethal descent into the alley, dark fae burning away the rest of the men before him. Damien saw something flicker behind the adept. Not quite understanding, he kept looking as Tarrant continued burning the men to cinders. When comprehension dawned, he opened his mouth shout a warning, but too late. Again, the adept was assaulted by the strange green, misty light. It surrounded him, not touching, just hovering as if in wait. They seemed to be studying each other, Tarrant and this substance. Then, suddenly, the mist closed in. Tarrant yelled out in anger and pain as it connected with his skin, but then he was fighting back. Blue fire battled for dominion over the green mist, and slowly, oh so slowly, it seemed there was more blue than green flickering around the man. Damien had been pacing around Tarrant, helpless to do anything. The coldfire would just suck him in for fuel if he tried to intervene physically, and his sorcerous abilities didn’t even warrant recognition against those of the Hunter. And so he waited, and worried, and watched.

At long last, with a muted grunt, Tarrant threw back his head and the unbright, yet blinding, blue-white fire burst all over him, pushing the mist from his body and then consuming it from within. When it was over, Tarrant’s head fell down, and he shuddered. The adept slowly raised his head to look at Damien with those quicksilver eyes, his mouth opened as if to say something, and then he began to fall forward. Sensing what was coming before the actual event, Damien had begun moving early. He slid to his knees adjacent to the Hunter and at least prevented further injury by awkwardly catching/cushioning his fall.

After ascertaining that the other man was indeed in no danger other than being unconscious, Damien let out a breath that he felt he had been holding the entire time. Looking down at the angelic features of his savior, his tormentor, he found that, once again, he was elated at the Hunter escaping death. _Getting to be a habit of mine,_ he thought to himself. He eased the adept onto the ground and positioned him for safety, then knelt back down beside him, deciding on whether to attempt waking him or wait a bit to see if he would wake on his own. Then he thought, _What **was** that crap? I’ve never seen something like that before that can sentiently attack sorcerers on their own ground._ Perhaps Tarrant would know when he woke up. Damien reached out toward the Hunter’s body and then stopped, his hand dropping back to his side. Saved by an evil he used to passionately despise…again. Sighing deeply, he folded his hands in his lap and whispered, “Thank you…thank you.”

It was not long after that before the adept began coming around. “Ughhh, what the hell…?! Damien…?” he began. Vryce reached out and touched the man’s shoulder, “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. You’ve just been out for a few minutes since you burned out that green stuff. Which, by the way, what the hell was that?” Tarrant slowly pulled himself into a seated position, bringing his face level with Vryce’s, and very, very close. _The fight must have affected his sense of personal space as well_ , thought the knight. “I am…not sure yet; but I have theories, postulations…” Tarrant trailed off, perhaps realizing finally how close in proximity they were. He was quite still for a moment, and then he quickly rambled into a stand. So unlike the usual grace that accompanied his every move, and Damien noticed. _He must have really been hurt by that stuff_ , he thought as he watched the adept straightening his clothes. A light breeze floated by suddenly, and Damien saw that the cloak and tunic were no longer mussed or rumpled in the least. _Got his priorities doesn’t he?_ Damien grumbled internally. Noticing the knight’s study, Tarrant stopped his grooming. Fixing his gaze somewhere into the darkness of the alley, Tarrant said, “I am…glad I found you. I was so deep in study this night that I didn’t notice at first when you were late in returning. Upon my notice, though, I acted as quickly as circumstances allowed…” It seemed he was to continue, but he stopped there. If it were anyone else, Damien would have thought the man sounded _guilty_. But, this was Gerald Tarrant. _He must just feel like the situation wasn’t totally under his control or something. I know how much that upsets him_ , Damien thought.

They peered around the edge of the alley before coming back out into the streets. As they began walking back toward the Inn, Tarrant stopped in the road suddenly, nostrils flaring slightly. “You’re bleeding,” he accused Vryce. The knight, in turn, rolled up his sleeves to evidence the deep scratches from the roof. “Just little things, no worries,” he replied. The adept grabbed his left arm in ice cold hands inspecting the cuts, but Damien also noticed how gently he handled it as well. Running a hand along the marks, Tarrant declared, “They are not infected,” as he glanced up into Damien’s questioning eyes. Tarrant continued to stare at him for a moment before shoving the arm back at the knight and resuming his march back to their room. _I guess he’s a little shaken up_ , Damien concluded about the man’s strange actions.

It took almost 40 minutes to make their way back through the twisting streets. No one was out at this hour, and so they moved unmolested and unobserved. Perhaps fifteen minutes prior to reaching their mark, Tarrant began to speak. “I will need to feed, and soon, to make up for this night’s surprises,” he said in clipped words. Glancing at Vryce, he said acerbically, “I trust you will permit this without one of your holy rants concerning right and wrong?” _What is up with him?_ Vryce thought as he said out loud, “Sure, yeah. I mean, you don’t even kill now, right? So, really, what is there to complain about?” The Hunter stopped walking and turned to face Vryce. “I am tired,” the adept said evenly, “And I would like to know where you stand so as not to place myself in a vulnerable position with an angry knight.” _What the hell?_ Damien thought, _He has even less to worry about from me than ever before; doesn’t he realize that?_ “Tarrant, I…you have nothing to worry about… _especially_ with me,” Damien finished. The Hunter stood statue still, seemingly assessing his words for the truth before spinning around and moving once more. For the rest of the walk back, Tarrant did not slow or look behind him at Damien again. It was as if he had ceased to acknowledge the other’s presence for some reason. _Stranger and stranger_ , the knight mused. But then he thought to himself ruefully, _Yeah, strange. I’m traveling back in time with a murdering demonic undead man that I’m bent on redeeming in order to save the world from its own stupidity. I think I’m pretty well qualified for determining strangeness_.    

When they reached the Inn, Tarrant again acted strangely. “I will see you inside, priest,” the adept whispered before disappearing around the side of the building. Damien watched him dissolve into the night. After a moment’s hesitation, he continued on through the doors and across the common area, which still had two dedicated drunks at its bar, and then on up the long climb of stairs to the seventh floor. Reaching the room, he turned the key in the lock, opened the door and stepped in and around it to close and lock it behind him. _At least this crazy night is finally over_ , he thought, _Now, maybe I can try out the other side of that enormous bed!_       

He turned from the door to face into the room but was halted by a pair of hands grabbing his shoulders and pushing him back into the door frame with a hard thud. _Shit, they’ve found us!_ he thought frantically. But then his eyes adjusted somewhat to the dim light, and he began to absorb more details about his attacker. The hands gripping him were frigid and strong. And the eyes boring into him across the length of long, lean arms held a hunger that no words could describe. Twins lakes of silvery luminescence peered into his own hazel orbs causing a slight catch to his breath and a barely detectable increase in his heart rate. He was pinned to the doorframe by the Hunter. _What the hell is it this time?_ his mind cried out. But he couldn’t make any words flow from his mouth. It was as if he no longer had control over his actions. He could only observe as the Hunter eyed his prey.

Every possible outcome of this and reasoning flew through Damien’s head. Betrayal, anger, insanity, hunger…on and on. There was just no predicting Tarrant. But what happened next knocked the everlasting wind out of him. One minute, Tarrant’s predatory eyes were studying his face as a starving man does a loaf of bread; the next minute, he found his head knocked into the wooden door as cold lips covered his own. He froze, stiff as the door behind him. And his mind shattered a thousand thousand times. And slowly, he came back together and realized that Tarrant had backed his face away just a few inches, searching his reactions, absorbing all the miniscule variations in his body that would give away his thoughts and feelings as well as mind reading could do. And everything came together for him then. All of Tarrant’s peculiarities of late cemented into this moment. And then Damien was the one leaping at the other man. His lips found those soft, cold ones that complimented his own in so many perfect ways.

Initially, he felt the Hunter give, and if he was very observant, he would have felt the slight smile that flashed across the pale face. But then Tarrant came back with a ferocity that should have scared Damien, given the man’s past. But as Tarrant guided their touches and kissing towards another room, Damien could feel the man’s unnatural strength being caged and channeled into gentle caressing. Such a fearsome predator, restraining himself for safety’s sake, was incredibly thrilling to the knight. Who knew? He had not realized that this desire was already there inside him, latent and waiting, denied an outlet.

They reached the room Tarrant had claimed as his own and passed through the doorway. Standing at the foot of the enormous four-poster, canopied bed, Damien and Gerald assaulted each other’s mouths. Tongues slid against each other and lips fought for supremacy of position. Then, Tarrant changed the game. While Damien concentrated on the physically connected part of their bodies, Tarrant reached up to Damien’s shoulders, grabbed handfuls of his shirt, and ripped it off into two pieces in a single motion. This startled the knight momentarily. He looked down at his abdomen and then back up at Tarrant just in time to see the two arms shoot out and push him in the chest. He fell back onto the bed with a whoosh of air leaving his lungs. Tarrant stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, and then he reached up to his cloak and undid the clasp. It slid down his lean frame as if made of liquid and not silk. The tunic slid over and off of his torso next, his eyes never wavering from Vryce’s position.

Tarrant stepped up to the bed and pulled off both of Vryce’s boots. Then, bending low over the bed and hand-walking his arms up the sides of Damien’s thighs, he used one artist-like hand to quickly undo the belted pants. Sliding his hands along Damien’s outer thighs as he slowly stood back up, Tarrant grabbed hold of the end of the pant legs and pulled. This resulted in removing the pants, but it also pulled Damien down the bed to where he ended with his buttocks just barely remaining on the coverlets. Damien saw the almost-smile whisk across the Hunter’s face as the adept took in the fact that the knight was in no small-clothes under the pants. Tarrant leaned over Damien again and kicked off his own boots as he climbed on top of the knight. Hands planted to either side of Damien’s head, and knees to either side of Damien’s thighs, the Hunter had caught his prey again. Tarrant leaned down, softly kissed Vryce’s lips, and slid one arm under the knight’s shoulders. Using strength not born of a normal man, Tarrant pulled Damien up the mattress with him and then lay him back underneath him.

Tarrant again leaned forward and caught Damien’s mouth in a fierce kiss that lasted mere seconds. Tarrant again pulled back and looked deeply into Damien’s eyes as if to ask, Is this really what you want, priest? Damien reached up and placed his hand on the side of Tarrant’s face, feeling the chill race down his arm at the contact. Then, slowly, keeping his eyes on Tarrant’s own, he slid his hand down the adept’s face, throat, chest…to the belt that _must_ be removed. Quick work was made of the piece of leather, and then the rest of Tarrant’s own clothing joined Damien’s on the floor.

Flesh to flesh, they lay together for a moment absorbing the feel of the other’s body against them. A thrill of absolute power ran through Tarrant. _He is mine!_ he exulted…even as he cherished the way Damien ran his hands lightly up his back. _Such power over another does love bestow_ , he observed, but then added, _It runs both ways, though. Careful_. He placed another light kiss to the knight’s lips, and then added ones to the eyelids. The Hunter’s body trembled, ever so slightly. He closed his eyes as he felt himself becoming fully erect from the evening’s actions. _I’m not sure I can handle this_ , he thought, suddenly scared. And then Damien reached up to his face again and brought his mouth down to another soft, slow kiss. Such purity of love was expressed through that connection, and Tarrant felt the warmth of the shock course from the point of contact throughout every cell of his being. Within his breast, the warmth remained, even after the shock had faded. _Oh no_! he thought, feeling himself becoming entangled in his own trap. Then, he felt Vryce’s body arch up into his own from underneath, the muscled bulk of the other man sliding against his own skin. _Oh…yes…_

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Damien woke to a sore back and a sore…what?! Memories of the night before flooded back into his mind, and he was shocked all over again. Somehow, it had all felt so surreal that he had figured it must be imaginary or a dream or…something. But here it was, in daylight, in reality. And there was the Hunter’s pale arm around his waist under the covers, the cold seeming muted to him now. Slow and even breathing from behind him notified him of the other’s unconscious state. And so he lay there as the sun rose, trying to reconcile what had to be the most confusing occurrence of his entire life. He stretched his arms out in front of him, trying to see how well the scratches from the rooftop were healing to ascertain whether a Healing was warranted or not. They weren’t there. _What_?! The surprise was almost instantly replaced by anger.

Vryce rolled and heaved Tarrant from the side of the bed, then climbed out of his side. He had hoped to tumble the man onto the floor in order to take out some of his anger, but as usual, the Hunter’s natural grace subverted his effort. Spinning with the direction of the push, Tarrant landed lightly on his feet and stood in the faint dawn light that filtered through the thick curtains. He reached to the foot of the bed, pulling his cloak from where it had caught as it fell last night. It was around his shoulders in seconds, partially covering his nudity, as he locked eyes with Vryce. _Yes, what is it_? his eyes seemed to convey. “What the hell did you do to me?!” Damien cried out as he thrust his forearms out in front of himself, twisting them to show the clear, unbroken skin. “I merely did what I thought was in the best interests of the mission. You needed to be fit, so I had you imbued with superior healing abilities when we committed the sacrifice. These healing abilities also work in such a manner as to preserve your lifespan by constant cell renewal,” Tarrant replied evenly, giving nothing away, “And if we’re going to stand here shouting at one another, then please apply something to yourself so as not to be so…distracting.” The Hunter’s eyes glittered as he smoothly exited the room with the rest of his clothing. Damien stared, open-mouthed, and then realized that he had been, in fact, accosting the most feared being on Erna in the bare essentials of his birth. “Gaaahhh!” he shouted wordlessly in frustration, slamming his fist into the mattress in front of him. Did the man have to be so unendingly logical and annoying? “I’m taking a bath. I need to think. Just…just…leave me alone for a little while…okay?” he shouted out the door. No reply was forthcoming, but he figured he had made his point. What the vulk was happening to him now?

A good hour later, Damien emerged from the large bathing tub feeling refreshed in body if not in emotions. He found the adept sitting on one of the many sprawling sofas. He had chosen one that was placed strategically by a large window that afforded an awesome view of the sun rising out over the city. One arm crossways in his lap, the other draped across the back of the sofa, and one long leg casually thrown over the arm, he looked like packaged perfection. Red silken shirt the depth of blood with black pants clung to him as if specially tailored to showcase him alone, and they probably had been. The silver eyes left the window and caught him staring. If you didn’t know the Hunter, you would miss the subtle changes around his eyes that indicated smiling. Damien knew him…and was suitably embarrassed. _He knows what he is doing,_ he fumed.

Plopping down in the middle of the cushions, Damien said, “I don’t want to talk about the healing just yet, so back off it, alright? Let’s talk about something else. So, the green stuff? Anything you care tell me now that you’ve gotten whatever last night was out of your system?” Those eyes never left his as the adept said softly, “Perhaps you _don’t_ know me very well at all, priest, if you think that is so easily extinguished.” He slid his leg off the arm and turned halfway to sit facing Damien, “Nevertheless, I believe…the fae does not want us to accomplish our mission.” He let that sentence hang in the air between them until Damien said at last, “The _fae_ is working against us?! What…but how? That doesn’t even make any sense! It’s not a being that thinks for itself, it’s just a natural substance of this world that responds to the will of those things living in it.” Tarrant was shaking his head as Damien ended his questioning, “Is it? Is that really all that it is? Oh, I don’t believe that it is possessed of the capabilities like those of the Unnamed, which may coalesce into functionality every now and again, but I do believe that once it is set on a course, such as the eradication of humanity, that it can pursue that as though single-minded in purpose. Those men last night were not functioning of their own volition. And the power that aided them, it felt as though pure earth fae, with no Working behind it, was attacking me.” Damien looked perplexed, “But, that eradicating humanity thing was from _our_ time, almost a thousand years from now. Surely that can’t affect us here and now, in the past, can it?” Tarrant drew a bit closer to Damien, until their knees were touching lightly. That spark of brilliance was in Tarrant’s eyes as it was wont to do when he was discovering new things. “Yes; it can. Don’t you see? Here; listen to this line of thinking, and see where it leads you,” Tarrant said, then continued, “When an adept Divines something, he uses the fae to see many future possibilities, correct? And so that begs the question as to _how_ it can make this possible. The reason is quite simple to deduce if a bit complex to fully comprehend.” Leaning forward, ever closer to Vryce, Tarrant whispered, “It is _there_. In the future. It is everywhere, at all times… _in_ all times.”

Damien leaned back against the cushions, his mind exploding with possibilities. But, however interesting these revelations might seem, the only thing that held importance for him right now was the fact that their problems had gone from one level of difficulty to an incomprehensible one. “Vulking hell,” he whispered. “Just so, Vryce,” Tarrant added in agreement, “And this means then that we must complete our appointed task much sooner than originally planned, before this can turn any worse for us.” Sighing deeply, Vryce said, “Well, I never thought it would be easy,” and glancing at Tarrant meaningfully he added, “Or uncomplicated,” not speaking at all of the fae.

Later, early afternoon, the two men sat at the small, quaint dining table going over their plans. “Tomorrow will be ideal for a first test run,” muttered Tarrant while looking over sketches he had made from memory of Merentha castle’s exterior and its guard situation. These were done more for Damien’s benefit than his own. “I never much cared for guards, and so that, at least, shouldn’t pose too much of a problem to work around. I feel I will be able to slip inside in the early evening without too much of a risk. I will change back my hair prior to this, too, because if I am seen, then perhaps they will just assume that I am _this_ time period’s Tarrant and leave me be.” Damien harrumphed, “And where exactly am _I_ to fit into all this? I can’t just sit on the sidelines while you take all the risk. And what exactly are you planning on doing to change your younger self’s mind? You never have told me, you know. And if I don’t know, then I can’t know how to not screw things up.” Tarrant was quiet for a minute before saying, “You will provide an invaluable cover for me. A distraction if you will. There is an old well on my properties that is used to bring water to certain parts of the city. It used to be a famous target for pranksters who wanted to stir up trouble by coloring the water, adding scents to it, or other such nonsense. You will simply need to report to the three guards on duty at the gate that you saw some youths heading toward it carrying sacks of suspicious looking materials. They will then leave their post, as I had often told them was fine to do in those situations, to investigate this. You should then come to the south end of the castle where there is a small storm door at the base of the far right corner. It may take some ingenuity, or just heavy brawn, but the lock was never meant to keep out a very determined intruder. I was more than capable enough of a sorcerer to defend against ruffians breaking and entering after all. Follow the hallway until it forks to the right. From the exit of this servant’s passageway, there will be a door across a large common room with a boar’s head and other hunting implements mounted over it. That is the way down to my laboratories, and it is where my other self will most likely be, so I will go there during your distraction. Keep watch from your hidden vantage and if anyone goes near to enter it, pretend to be a lost messenger in the keep and distract them. If you talk loudly enough, the sound will carry down the staircase and alert me. I am hoping this first meeting will be short. Just long enough to pique my other self’s interest, but not long enough to arouse my natural suspicion.” Damien frowned at the last line, “Suspicion of what?” Tarrant waved a hand in the air. “Do not mind that, Vryce. I was a suspicious person back then when it came to my experiments. Perhaps I might think myself a rival trying to pry into my private researches. It doesn’t matter,” Tarrant answered, and then finished in his head, _There will be no need for a second meeting, but you don’t need to know this, priest. The guilt would rot you from the inside out._

Tarrant went out that night to find a suitable means of gathering his power again, and Damien remained in the room watching the fire in the bedroom hearth die down. _Feeding, you mean, don’t sugar coat it. It may not be the same, but it still bothers you. Admit it,_ Damien thought to himself as he climbed into the bed. He blew out the candle at the bedside and flopped back into the pillows. Tomorrow would be an interesting day. Two Gerald Tarrants in the same room? It almost didn’t bear thinking about. Hopefully, his younger version would be more amenable to suggestions than the one Damien was familiarized with…and if not…two Gerald Tarrants! He shivered under the covers.

Damien had woken to two cold, strong arms encircling him. The head of the Hunter lay across his chest and shoulder. So perfectly were his limbs arrayed that one could be suspicious of a purposeful artistic placement of himself. _He doesn’t even snore_ , huffed Damien, _What kind of a man doesn’t snore?_ Still, there was something intrinsically wonderful about waking this way. It held a promise of security that none of Damien’s previous lovers had ever evidenced. He lay there for a long while just enjoying the newfound comfort of the Hunter’s embrace. So many others had found only death in this very same encircling. Who could have ever predicted this? _I don’t know what this is between us, Tarrant, but it sure does scare the hell out of me._

Later in the morning, they dressed and went over their simple plannings again. Tarrant chose his clothing carefully, being sure that it was something he might be seen in during these times. Damien dressed in colors common to messengers, black, cream, and brown. Usually, they would have some other small item that was brightly colored to denote a particular employer, but they didn’t have the time to investigate that aspect of his disguise. They passed the time, each in his own way, awaiting the coming actions of the evening. Then, once the timing was right, they set out upon separate paths, so as not to be connected with the other. Each was to have an hour pass before making his move. The sun was just setting as they each began to put their portions of the plan into motion. The Core hung suspended behind the setting sun, casting everything in a golden, if somewhat dimmer, lighting.

Tarrant entered from a door commonly used by servants to bring out laundered items to hang in the sun. He wore a hat and a cloak with a high collar to help conceal his features. Only a few noticed his passage, but they were of enough distance away that he wouldn’t be more than a tall shadowy personage walking importantly away from them. Nothing to concern themselves with. When he reached the laboratory door, he glanced around one last time before quickly entering and closing the door back. He turned and faced the staircase that led down to where he had committed his most despicable of crimes, yet his most gloriously unrivaled achievement. Memories hung thick in the air about him. Perhaps, if his essence did not dissolve those fae-born images that sprung from normal men, one might have seen the patterns of blood that ran down his arms, a red mist that clung faintly to his body. But Tarrant was no normal mortal man, and so these things were indecipherable as they disappeared around him, absorbed back into his dark soul. He descended slowly, softly, alert for any sign that something was amiss.

Reaching the bottom, he stopped and tested the dark fae about him. There was only one living being he detected. Tarrant smiled to himself as he stepped around the alcove’s doorway only to find himself thrown forcibly back against the wall. The breath left his body in a whoosh of air as he collided with the stone and slid down to a seated position. “Do not come any closer, thief,” a very familiar voice called to him, “I have all manner of interesting things to test on those who trespass here.” The owner of the voice stepped out of the shadows of a stone pillar. No. Gerald Tarrant stepped from those shadows, and for a moment, Tarrant could only stare as the other man came towards him. “No words for yourself, thief? How very sad. If I were you, I…what?! What trickery is this?! Who are you?!” the young Tarrant yelled while backing away slightly. _Ah, so I did have good eyesight as a mortal_ , thought Tarrant. He spoke as he rose from his position on the floor, slowly, so as not to alarm his other self, “I am…you. And you are me. And if you allow me to explain, we shall both learn a great many things. Among them…time travel,” Tarrant began as he left the wall, and he saw the light of interest and suspicion spark in those eyes of his in the other man.

Recovering fairly quickly from the shock of seeing himself intruding in his own laboratory, the young Tarrant questioned, “You are _me_? Truly?” He circled the intruder, thoughts racing through his mind of the possibilities here. “Then you will have no objections if I perform a Knowing?” the young Tarrant said evilly, expecting to unman him if he was an imposter. “Not at all,” replied Tarrant, “In fact, I was going to suggest it myself.” And then Tarrant placed every skillset he possessed into Obscuring his true purpose this night, allowing only his methods of travel and other such details about himself to be Known. When finished, the younger Tarrant said, “You’re either telling the truth, or you’re an excellent Illusionist and Obscurer. Tell me, what color was the flower I laid in mother’s coffin?” And the immortal Tarrant replied, “Purple, but this will not solve anything. Anyone could have found that out through sorcerous means and much study. What I _will_ tell you is something no one could know because no one else _does_ know. The knowledge of this subject comes directly from your mind.” Obviously intrigued, the younger Tarrant motioned for him to continue.

Tarrant took a deep breath and began, “Even now, even this early, already you are considering ways to prolong your life. You were recently informed of your failing heart by an acquaintance who is a Healer in training. But that is just background noise to what this is leading up to. You have been researching ancient parts of this planet and conversing with demons known as Iezu in order to gain special knowledge, forbidden knowledge. You are almost there, almost decided in this course leading to darkness. In your subconscious mind, you have even already determined the sacrifice necessary to achieve this Working and seal the pact…and their deaths _will_ bring you eternal life. I can promise it, for it is what sustained me for almost one thousand years.” Tarrant finished, gauging the reaction of his living self.

The mortal Tarrant was ashen as he had heard the last part of Tarrant’s tale. He gathered his wits quickly, though, while a cold sweat was still half-formed on his brow. “You _are_ me. You’re telling the truth!” he exclaimed. “Indeed,” said the undead version, “And we have much to discuss about the state of the church in _my_ time and age.” Tarrant watched as his younger version’s guard fell. _Even I would have trusted myself not to harm myself,_ he thought wickedly, _Not anymore_! The young Tarrant walked up to him and studied his face. “Why am I so pale? I mean, I know we have always been rather pallid, but you’re downright ghastly,” the young man asked. “A condition imposed by the agreement forged between a certain entity and ourselves. I am alive, and not, but I persevere the ages just the same,” Tarrant answered smoothly. At ease for the moment, the young Tarrant turned to walk to a stone table that would later serve as the sacrificial alter for Almea. And that was when Tarrant struck.

Blue fire shot out from his hands as his other self was walking away. It hit him square in the back and was meant to rip the very life through him and out. But the fire stopped and slid around the other man. _What?!_ thought Tarrant frantically as he tried again and again to throw death at his younger self only to have it repelled by some unseen force. And then it hit him. _Paradox. This is how time fae guards itself against paradox. One cannot kill one’s self directly; this is meant to be a safeguard for travelers_. But he knew people _could_ be killed. The alleyway that night showed him that. You apparently could not _directly_ affect your own self, which wasn’t a problem for Damien, but it was a huge and deadly problem for Tarrant right now. His other self was spinning to face him, anger evident. “You think to trick me, you bastard?!” the younger version cried as he threw out true fire from his hands.

The flames hit Tarrant square in his side as he tried to turn away from them. Fire might not be his nemesis quite like it used to be, but it still hurt like fucking hell. He fell to the ground, wondering how he was going to get out of this if he couldn’t hurt himself. _Damn the luck_ , he cursed. Another blast of power hit him, this time just physical force, and it slid him across the stones violently. He came to a rest when his head and left shoulder smacked into a stone pillar. A shadow fell over him, his vision too wavering to make anything out clearly, and heard his own cruel laughter. “Get up, thief. You obviously aren’t even a sorcerer, just an Illusionist. What was your plan, to trick me into believing I was being assaulted so that my conscious mind would hold me captive for you? Such elementary work. Or did you think I would simply believe you had the power to do more and so would be coerced into whatever petty demands you might make? I’ve dealt with worse and better than yourself many times over. Your material is stale.” The young Tarrant stood over Gerald, who was having a difficult time focusing at the moment. _The fire must have hit me worse than I thought_ , ran through his mind, _and maybe that pillar, too._ “I want you to watch as I pull you apart, piece by piece, thief. I will add you to my experiments tonight with pleasure, and we shall see just how thorough your illusion of myself truly is,” the young version said as he began gathering fae to him.

Tarrant could only watch as the young version of himself began to raise his hands in a Working of paralysis. His head spun as he tried mightily to focus, but the blow had done its temporary damage. Temporary damage that would lead to permanent death… And then an arrow burst into the shoulder of the living adept’s doublet with tremendous force. “Unhh…” he managed to choke out before he fell unconscious from the sheer force of the impact that had knocked him several feet back and to the ground. “You keep the most interesting things hanging on your castle walls, Tarrant. Like this longbow. Lucky for you I used to be a pretty decent shot in my youth!” Damien said as he rushed over to examine Tarrant’s wounds. “Head trauma always did leave adepts pissed off for a few hours since they couldn’t focus their will. Saw it too many times back in the Infirmary,” the knight muttered as he ran his hands through Tarrant’s hair, down his shoulders, and along his torso. Finding nothing more serious than a large patch of tunic missing from the adept’s side that revealed a second degree burn of large proportions, Damien glanced toward the unconscious form lying a good ten feet from their position. “Who is that you pissed off so badly anyway? I didn’t stop to think, I just saw you on the ground and him standing over you, so I shot. Guard?” he asked. Tarrant began to shake his head in the negative but rethought it when it made his world spin. “That,” he said quietly, “is me.”

“What?!” Damien cried as he whirled around into a standing position to face the still form. He looked back at _his_ Tarrant in horror. “What have I done? Will you be hurt because of this?” he asked pointing towards the figure. “No, Vryce. Remember, even if he dies, I am a part of _this_ time now, and so I would only have to worry if we could ever return to _our_ time, which we can’t,” Tarrant replied. “In fact, I need _you_ to kill him for me, priest. Apparently, we are prevented from causing harm to ourselves while here, but that is not to say that harm cannot still be caused by another.” Tarrant’s eyes were fixed on Damien’s, waiting for his reply.

“Kill him…kill you? Tarrant…Gerald, no. I can’t,” Damien protested, seemingly horrified. Tarrant groaned inwardly, _A few years back you wouldn’t have so much as blinked_. “Vryce,” Tarrant said as he struggled into an upright position, “The world of man depends upon your decision here. Before you intervened, I had just ascertained that my living self over there was not going to change a single action. He is, I was, too vain to let anything, even a time traveler, keep me from my goals,” he lied to Damien. It hurt, a little, knowing that Damien would believe him. After all, he _never_ _lied_ to him, and Damien knew this. Tarrant saw the struggle taking place within the knight as he stood there looking over the living body of Gerald Tarrant. The Hunter knew exactly what he was thinking; killing an unarmed man in cold blood for things he _might_ do…it was an immoral act of inconceivable horror to the priest. Suddenly, Damien was speaking again, “But, what about your wife and children? Your servants? Don’t you think they’ll notice? Don’t you think…no. I know you, Hunter. Or at least I thought I did. You’re going to kill _all_ of them, aren’t you? Aren’t you?!” he finished with a yell. Tarrant remained upright, barely, holding himself up seated against the pillar that had caused his most recent pain. He replied slowly and softly to Damien’s anger, “No. I will not,” and Damien seemed to relax slightly at this, and confusion replaced his anger. The adept continued, “I will send Almea and the children away. They will be sent to a remote location and set up in the best of care, but they will never be allowed to return. She will think I have gone mad, but if that is what it takes, then I shall act the part. The servants will not be an issue for I am their Lord and master. They will recognize me as such, and perhaps they will think me sickly, but I will assume control of the Neocounty long enough to dissolve it so that we, too, might vanish. I will, of course, make what amends with the church I can before we abscond, in the hopes that it will aid them in the future. But all of this is wasted if _he_ lives,” he said gesturing to his past body.

His words were definitely having the desired effect. Tarrant watched as his speech and logic warred with Damien’s own values. _Just one more tipping piece to bring you over, my priest_ , Tarrant thought. Then he said, just loud enough for Vryce to make out the words, as if he struggled to get them out, “Vryce…Damien. Please. I cannot do this alone. Help me…I need you.” That did it; as he knew it would. He saw the indecision melt away from Vryce as the Hunter’s pitiable plea wound around his heart and soul and began to alter the course of his actions. Damien looked at the still figure again, and it was obvious what he was thinking. Tarrant reached into his coat and pulled forth the dagger with his family crest emblazoned upon it. The very same one that had taken Jenseny’s young life. “It must be done with this. When I was mortal, I imbued my body with a kind of self-destruct Working that would be unleashed should anyone attempt my death. This dagger will absorb the power that is released so that it will not harm you.” Damien stepped forward and gently, almost reverently, took the dagger from Tarrant’s fingers. _Yes, my priest. Go on_ , thought Tarrant.

The Hunter watched as Damien slowly made his way over to the living Tarrant and knelt beside him. The knight raised the dagger in a shaking hand, took a deep breath, and looked back at Tarrant. But only briefly did he hesitate, so firmly entrenched within his soul was the Hunter now. The knife flashed down and cut deep into muscle and past bone. It tore open the already weakened and sickly heart within, the hot liquid of life pulsing out and around the shining blade. Damien held it there until the pulsing ceased. A sudden, sharp flash of light was all the evidence given of the destructive Working Tarrant had warned him about. It flashed quickly up the blade and disappeared into the hilt. Once over, Damien slid the dagger out of the body and stared, numb, at what he had just done.

From behind him, Tarrant had managed to stagger to his feet and move over to the stricken knight. A cold hand came around Damien’s face, sliding along his cheek and stopping to lightly grasp his chin. The hand then turned his face, which made him turn his kneeling body towards the man behind him. Up he gazed into those beautiful silver eyes. So arresting was their hold that he found himself rising to his feet without a thought, the Hunter’s hand still cool on his face. They stared at one another for long moments, weighing all that they had been through recently and assessing this new thing that had grown between them. And then Tarrant claimed his mouth in what began as a soft application of lips, but ended in a crushing press. The Hunter’s strong arms encircled his waist, and he felt himself pulled up against the man’s chill, hard body. Far from unresponsive, the dagger clattered to the ground as Damien wrapped his arms around the other man and brought a searing passion into the kiss that took Tarrant’s breath away. _Runs both ways_ , was a distant and fleeting thought in the back of Tarrant’s mind. When they finally parted lips, still holding tightly to each other, Damien began laughing softly in what sounded like true humor. Curious, Tarrant inquired, “Yes? Would you care to enlighten me?” Damien took a breath to calm his laughter as he glanced at the murdered form on the ground near them, “I just realized…I finally _did_ kill you!” Tarrant smiled, _actually smiled_ , when he heard this. Not because it was funny, though he did find it amusing to some degree, but because of what it implied. Here they were, Damien having just killed an unarmed and unconscious man, something completely against every tenant and core belief held to so very fiercely by the knight…and yet he had found it humorous. _Ah, Damien. You a truly mine, now…and forever!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Travelers II**

As far as plans went, it wasn’t a bad one, at least not as Damien considered it. Tarrant meant to assume temporary identity as himself here in the past, send Almea and the children away with enough funding to keep them well through the years, burn the keep, and remove himself and Damien from the area. Simple. Their optimistic completion date would be one month from this murderous and eventful night. And the initial part went well. Tarrant and Damien emerged from the laboratory after incinerating the younger Gerald Tarrant’s body and were met with no immediate resistance. Servants barely glanced in their direction as they traversed the hallways. Testing the waters further, Tarrant ordered dinner for himself and Damien in the great dining hall, and still no alarms seemed to be sprung from the staff. The house steward did ask if Gerald was feeling unwell but nothing untoward. Just another night like any other in the Tarrant household. The Neocount had seemingly brought a guest over for dinner. Nothing unusual at all in this. In his mortal lifespan, Tarrant had been wont to have all manner of scholars and clergymen over late into the night discussing everything from religious decorum and doctrine to the genetic breakdown of a particular species of primate found on Erna. And so Tarrant and Vryce spent quiet hours at the table planning their eventual departure into the obscurity of normality…until Almea returned.

She had left the children at her sister’s and traveled home by herself due to the late hour. The evening had felt strange to her, but she could discern no particular reasoning for this feeling. It wasn’t that she felt afraid as she traveled the road home, but perhaps something subtler. The manner in which dread develops before it transcribes into fear; a prescience of horror. When you are on the verge of discovering what it is that goes bump in the night. It was that discerning state of mind in which everything seems larger than life and clearer than crystal. She could feel it building inside her as she drew up to the gates of the keep. And gazing on Merentha castle, backlit by what little of the core remained in the sky, she felt it settle in the pit her stomach, cold and weighted. The unknown, unseen, lurking _something_ was here…and her soul trembled at the potential behind it.

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Tarrant and Vryce were still in the dining hall when she found them. They had long since finished dinner and were now caught up in a discussion of how to approach other matters involved in their haphazard takeover. Damien was in the middle of a sentence when he saw Tarrant’s focus shift and sharpen onto something behind him. His stomach turned over at the realization of what it must imply. He turned his head and saw her standing outlined by the light of the hallway, the dining hall being somewhat dimmer. Her auburn hair formed a reddened halo as her crown, and her features were indiscernible as she faced them. “Almea,” Damien whispered to himself, and not without a trace of alarm. He then shot his gaze over to Tarrant, his muscles now tense, and awaited his reaction.

Tarrant himself seemed encased in amber, unmoving. He and Almea faced each other for long seconds with no outward showing of emotions, no acknowledgement of the outside world. Finally, she spoke in a hushed whisper that held a certain underlying anxiety, “What has happened?” And she walked slowly towards the Hunter as if he were a ghost that could dissipate at any moment, careful and slow. She inhaled sharply, and then spoke again as she drew within feet of him, drawing to an abrupt halt, “Who are you?” she began, and then, after absorbing the additional visual input of such close proximity, “ _What_ are you?” Damien remained motionless as he watched the drama unfold before him, not wanting to draw attention to himself at all. And Tarrant finally seemed to collect his thoughts enough to function once more. “I am…” he began softly, “what you see before you.” Taking a breath as if to arrange his words, he continued, “Gerald Tarrant…and more. But, I am not the man you know…” he paused here for a moment, then added, “ _knew_.” She took a step back from him as he said this, her eyes widening slightly. Tarrant spoke softly still, “Almea…understand me when I say that a great tragedy has been averted by certain actions taken tonight. You may never know it, or believe it, but you are going to be much better off this way than…in other futures,” he said cryptically. “But know that I bear you no ill will and do what follows for your own good and protection…and for that of the children… _our_ children.” She could only stand rooted and listen now as the terms of her future were thrown out to her.

And with that awkward introduction, Tarrant outlined his plans for her and the children to leave these lands and set up in a remote part of the country. He would provide documentation that attested his death in the case that any future suitors might find interest with her, so that she might remarry without stigma or shame. He told of how she and their children would be provided for and of how they should conduct themselves if ever questioned concerning his fate. And through it all, Almea stood firm, though her life was falling to hell in front of her. Only a faint tremor in her voice and her somewhat rigid posture gave indication that she was close to the edge of leaving the sane world. Inner strength had been one of the many reasons a young Gerald Tarrant had courted her, and she displayed that fiery willpower now in the facing of the end of all she had known. When finished, Tarrant attempted to approach her, but she backed away with eyes like ice, a solitary tear under one eye was the only visible evidence of her pain. She knew there were larger things at play here than her own feelings of betrayal, but the moment hurt like nothing she had ever imagined. However, she would be damned before she broke down in front of this, this, _thing_! A thing of fire and ice. It had burned away all of her established security and future and then frozen it over with a numbing kind of agony that creeps into the mind and remains until the end of days. And with her one act of turning away his false comfort, she turned and left. And never looked back. Later, her things would be sent after her to her sister’s dwelling, but no contact from her would ever be received again; only a brief communication through her sibling establishing the direction of finances.

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Once she was gone from the hall, Damien stood and went to Tarrant. He had to force himself not to run as he knew the prickly man would not take kindly to it. Still, it was difficult all the same. Their blood-forged bond was thrumming with an amalgam of conflicting emotions, but the theme of it ran red with pain. Reaching the adept, he lightly placed his hands on each of the man’s shoulders and asked the most basic yet poignant of questions, “Are you okay?” And he then braced himself, uncertain of the reaction to follow. Anger and denial flashed irritatedly through Tarrant’s eyes, and Damien almost let go his hold. But it was quickly doused and covered, leaving the former priest to wonder if he had indeed seen it at all. The adept’s body was taut, exhaustion of both physical and less substantial states warred within the finely sculpted frame. _Must be just about at the end of his limited emotional endurance for the day,_ thought Damien. But he would catch him when he fell, which appeared to be nearing. When Tarrant spoke at last, it was hushed and monotone, “I’m fine,” he said, “Fine.” And with this rather lifeless statement, he turned and left for his rooms seeming an automaton struck into motion. Damien remained where he was for a few moments before heading after the other man. Did Tarrant need some solitary contemplation? Or would Damien’s presence be a more welcome thing at this moment? Entering the long hall that led to the living quarters, he hoped it was the latter. All he needed right now was a feisty and riled Hunter… Here, as in battle, he lowered his head and continued on.

Entering the living quarters, he sought direction as to where the adept had headed. A fluttering of curtains caught his eye, and he found the balcony doors flung open wide. Moonlight poured over the large expanse of stoneworked genius, beautifying the night’s atmosphere. He found Tarrant, onetime Prince of Jehanna, perched atop an outcropping that seemed designed to channel rain from the higher points on the roof. It seemed a canted slope that ended about three feet out from the furthest edge of the balcony. And there sat the Hunter. One long leg dangling over the edge, the other drawn up and held to his chest as his arms encircled it. Chin placed on the knee and eyes gazing outwards, Gerald was only feet away and yet miles beyond Damien’s reach. With his pale skin seeming luminescent in the starlight, golden highlights glowing through his hair, the Hunter’s appearance had Damien stopping dead and just staring at the ethereal beauty that this man possessed. It could almost bring one to tears envisioning what their Terran ancestors might have termed an angelic being. _Until they met him_ , Damien thought ruefully.

His silent staring did not go unnoticed forever, though. Without his gaze wavering, Tarrant said, just loud enough to hear, “I never really loved her, you know. Not then, anyway. Not in the beginning.” He looked toward Damien then, his face concentrated in the effort of masking his pain. “It had to hurt. The sacrifice. It had to take something from me that could not be regained in order to cross over that boundary and complete the contract.” Damien softly came over to the edge of where the large gutter slide met the balcony. Once there, Tarrant swung his leg from empty space and had both hovering over the stone flooring. Damien moved between the space of the adept’s knees and placed his hands on the narrow waist, his eyes searching the other’s and willing him to continue with his disclosures. Tarrant took a breath and began again, “It had to hurt differently than any other pain known to me. Do you understand? It could not be just a simple physical pain, nor the pain that the loss of a loved one results in. It needed to possess the sheer soul-arresting despair of betrayal on the deepest of levels possible. And to do that, you must love someone unequivocally…and then destroy them utterly, and without reason or remorse. There can be no regret in your heart when the act is committed, Vryce, or you risk nullifying the offering.” He stopped there, as if he needed space for a moment.

And Damien had all the time in the world for him, so great was his love for this demon-turned-man, this Darkest Prince of Hell. He watched as the Hunter lowered his head, lost in his own mind again, lost in memories too dark for any human to hold. _What does that do to a man?_ Damien thought. But then, looking at Tarrant across the small, and yet wide, gulf between them, he realized, _I have seen it_. Further revelations were cut off as the Hunter continued again, “And so, I _loved_ her. I allowed myself to become wrapped in all the little vagaries that love supplies. And I built it up…so high. I suppose that gave it all the more distance to fall.” An almost inaudible sigh escaped the adept before his next speaking. “I loved her…and I killed her. And she watched me with those eyes that had loved me so…and still loved me, even as I slowly took the life from her. The children I did quickly. But she…she was the sacrifice most desired by the Unnamed. And so hers was to be the most painful…for her, and for myself.” Another pause here for a few moments. “I murdered her, the person I loved most and who trusted me implicitly, as though I were doing nothing more than trimming weeds in a garden.” Damien tightened his hold somewhat on the other’s waist in an attempt to show unvoiced support. “And I lived in that state of mind, that existence of being defined by the evil acts that had transformed me, for centuries…until you.”

Damien started at this. Up until this point, Gerald had not truly explained his reasoning or intentions behind his recent amorous actions. Damien had been hoping but was no fool. He knew the Hunter’s history, and could find no true belief that he meant much more than a pleasing diversion. True, he felt they had developed real friendship at last, but the Hunter had always been looking out for number one, and there hadn’t been evidence thus far to contradict this line of thinking. Before he could speak a reply, Tarrant said, “The evil that changed me was reinforced year after year. Solitude only forced the hate on to even higher climes. I tell you honestly, and I give you _my word_ on this, that I never once dared hope that a love such as _that_ could be bestowed upon me ever again. My heart had frozen with the coldfire invested in my soul. And so I am lost in _this_ discovery, Damien. And I am lost without _you_. You have proven time and again your friendship, your loyalty, and now…your love. Against all hope, I sit before you, sick with dread at the chance of you ever leaving me. And so I ask you, Damien Kilcannon Vryce, will you stay with me until the end of our days? Will you allow this monster to love you in all things and for all time?” And as the adept was finishing his questions, he had taken hold of both of the former priest’s hands in his own. He sat now, looking up into Damien’s eyes from his slightly lowered vantage on the ledge, silvery eyes shining with unshed tears. He awaited the answer with great trepidation evident in his every minute movement, his every aspect.

Damien’s world flew out and away from him. How to respond? Every possible reply seemed far too simple to adequately express the joyous tide of emotions washing over and through his spirit. _He loves me! **He loves me**!_ Damien kept running through his mind. It never sounded any less grand for the repetition, though. And as Damien was lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings, Tarrant felt hope die within himself. _Why does he say nothing? Even his face shows nothing I can interpret_ , thought the Hunter. The cold fingers of loneliness tickled the edges of his heart in a cruel caress. Hope is such a fragile thing, especially newborn.

Amidst his internal storm of happiness, Damien finally noticed Gerald’s changing form in front of him. Only those close to Tarrant would be able to detect the dimming in his eyes, the slight downturn at the corner of his mouth, and many other small and subtle tics indicating a mind becoming consumed by sorrow. Damien’s heart skipped at how it must seem to the other man. _Damn me for a blundering fool_ , he thought. He reached up to the side of the adept’s face and tilted his head back until the eyes had risen to face him again. “I’m so sorry, Gerald,” he whispered, and a thought came to him, “I have no words, but I have _this_ ,” he said as he fought to channel his responding emotions through their bond. And with a resounding internal _whump_ , Tarrant reeled under the strength of the onslaught. Totally counter to every darkness and evil of his being, Damien’s love burned a path of light through his shadows. There was no counterfeit for this, and so Tarrant knew suddenly the depth and strength of the other’s devotion to him. And it lifted him up inside and began to mold additions on to the foundation of change already wrought by the knight’s association with him. He smiled at Damien, a true smile, not the half-sardonic and mocking one that left a person wondering the meaning behind it. And the former knight knew the worth of such an expression, knew the worth of the person in front of him. And he reveled in knowing that that person was his. _You **are** changing, Gerald, and I will rejoice when your final redemption is met_ , he thought thankfully as they embraced, each lost in his own version of happiness.

Gerald pulled back slightly to look into the other’s eyes once more as he spoke, “There is nothing I desire more in this life than you, Damien. Nothing. Even immortality pales in comparison.” And while he was speaking, the Hunter was deftly running his fingers through the buttoned front of Damien’s shirt and casually popping each one off. Damien smiled, _Here goes another good set of clothes!_ And he reached out to mirror the adept’s movements. With a wicked grin, Damien grabbed fistfuls of butter slick silk and threw his arms apart, effectively ripping the shirt from Tarrant’s lean frame. Pale and unmarred, the Hunter’s skin was diamondine in the moonlight, almost shining it seemed. Not be outdone, the Hunter gave a small quirk at the corner of his mouth before all but the boots on Damien’s feet disintegrated. “What?! Hey!” the former knight exclaimed. Tarrant slid down from the ledge, swung Damien around to where he had just vacated, and pushed him onto the cool marble. Before Damien could react, Tarrant placed a finger to the other man’s lips, commanding silence. And he knelt then, spreading Damien’s knees apart, and ran his slender fingers down the shaft of pulsating flesh exposed to him. He cupped him underneath, and leaned forward to lightly place a kiss to the side of the member. A swift intake of breath was all he got from Damien.

Damien’s head swam in bliss for a moment, then he felt a sharp pain to the inner thigh of his left leg. Glancing down quickly, he saw amusement in the Hunter’s eyes as he looked up from the two shallow punctures. He was about to ask something, and he bet it was something important, but the next minute had his manhood taken all into the adept’s mouth and questions be damned! The hot tongue drawing slow and lazy circles around his cock had him entirely occupied as the Hunter grasped around his waist, held to his buttocks, and teased a fusion of pleasurable sensations from the core of him. Right at the cusp of his release, however, the adept backed off slowly and then stood with feline and liquid grace in front of him. Smooth hands running their way up his back elicited shivers as they went. Tarrant smiled teasingly and said, “I believe I can better show you my appreciation of your acceptance of my offer inside, priest.” The affectation of “priest” had become a most endearing term to this centuries old adept. He offered his arm to Damien, who then took it and stood to follow with him into the nearby bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks passed by, and Tarrant had successfully fended off visitors and inquiries from various sources. He realized time was drawing down to the limit, though. Soon, someone would catch on. They needed to be done with this place. Damien had been sent out the previous week to scout out their exit strategy. He traveled a full four days distance to purchase their necessities in order to avoid notice and returned by different route. He traveled slowly, though, so it took longer than the standard four days. Tarrant needed time to perform his own preparations while he was away, and these were more easily completed without the ex-priest’s questionable presence. Damien mapped their planned exodus as he went, plotting alternate paths as well. He explored the outlying regions as he went, noting the inhabitants and populace in order to better avoid them the next time he passed this way. They would be moving lightly and fast, so minimal supplies were necessary. If anything, this outing seemed fraught with naught but beautiful weather and illustrious boredom. _This cannot bode well_ , Damien thought as he envisioned the calm before the storm. Thus, somewhat pessimistic, he returned to the keep approximately twelve days since his departure and made his findings and success known. Thereafter, since Tarrant was not quite finished with his detailed plans, Damien committed himself to being as thoroughly lazy as possible. In order to rebuild strength lost from the _arduous_ journey, he assured himself.

                During Damien’s absence, Tarrant had arranged new identities and bonafides for the two of them and then transferred his accumulated wealth into a larger bank in a nearby city. From there, it could be easily accessed and transferred again once they decided upon a final destination. There was a large parcel of uninhabited forest Tarrant had a mind to purchase once he had examined it himself. Almost as large as the city of Jaggonath, it would provide privacy easily enough. It was sufficiently distanced from Merentha as well. And curious enough…it apparently had a reputation for being haunted. This may not have exactly been unusual on Erna, but the fact that the owner actually mentioned it made it a fact to make note of. It must be a significant haunting indeed to warrant commenting upon in this already fae-plagued world! Because of this last fact, people remained a goodly distance from it, which was just what the two men required. Whatever the cause of the disturbance in that land, it would do well to take notice of the Hunter’s interest.

                “Tomorrow,” Tarrant whispered as he stood beside Damien on the bedroom balcony the night before their departure. Plans had been made and completed, preparations finished, tension was high, and yet…the Hunter couldn’t have been happier. Not that he could let it slide through that granite façade he wore as second nature. To all outward appearances, he seemed cold and impassive, an angel of judgment come to reap the souls of offending mortals. In Damien’s discerning eyes, however, the slightest difference in the angle of the adept’s head, the way his long legs placed themselves beneath him, and myriad other minute details informed him of the true feelings coursing underneath that alabaster skin. He placed his hand over Tarrant’s own and remained quiet, not wanting to break the beauty of this moment together. The adept turned slightly away to gaze over the crenellations to the east as the ex-priest’s warm, life-filled palm slid over his own ice-like hand. He did this naturally, but not before Damien witnessed the bloom of the world’s tiniest smile flash across those perfect lips. They stood there a while longer before retiring, still lost in the newness of their shared bonding of love. Ice and Fire combined in a burning mixture of ever after. Never was there imagined in the Heavens a more perfect and complimentary union of souls.

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There were few awake in the early hours they chose for their “escape.” They loaded the horses, checked and double checked everything, and then set off. The pace they set was at first very slow, so as not to attract unwanted attention, which was pretty much _any_ attention at this point. They wore hooded cloaks of a nondescript gray-brown color and kept the cowls low about their faces. Luck was with them, though, for they encountered only two individuals, and these were clearly interested in other things that did not concern people on horseback. And so, the walls of the town fell away beside them as they passed through and then onward to their eventual destination, picking up the pace as they left the town behind.

Once they were perhaps ten miles out, they left the road to break their fast late in the morning in a small field of clover. Damien threw himself down on the grass and broke open a package of biscuits. “You know, Gerald, you never did tell me how you were going to stop people from searching for you,” he said around a mouthful of biscuit. Tarrant stood still for a moment, studying Damien as though weighing his response, before saying, “They will believe me dead.” Damien looked at him for a second, and then figured he wasn’t going to get more from the adept. “Well, I hope whatever it was that it was _convincing_. I don’t feel like having people show up banging on our door a few years down the road,” he huffed and went back to his breakfast, this time facing away from the adept. Tarrant’s still form rippled for just a second before he whispered, too low for any to hear, “ _No one_ will look for me, Damien. Ever again.” And as Damien ate, he thought he felt a chill for a second, but the next, it was passed, and he couldn’t remember why he had thought it was cold.

They traveled another eight miles before finding a suitable camping site off of the main road. The sun was just setting, but the Core was still high behind it. They were just entering the clearing when a sound so low that it seemed almost only a feeling in the chest passed through Damien. “What was that?!” he exclaimed, whirling to face Tarrant beside himself. Tarrant spared but a glance toward the trail behind them before looking back into Damien’s widened eyes. “Just far away thunder. No threat to our camping, I assure you,” Tarrant said smoothly. And for some reason, Damien felt that the words made _perfect_ sense. And he wasn’t worried, not with this demon, this love, of his here beside him. Feeling positively calm and happy, he set about making camp as Tarrant looked on and scanned the area for any danger. And the adept glanced once more in the direction of Merentha…where the largest cloud of smoke ever dreamed of floated ominously in the sky, distinguishable from this distance only by his fae-enhanced vision. “ _Ever_ again.”

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Their travel was unimpeded for the three weeks it took to reach the owner of the land in question. And the man asked nothing of them, only stared in disbelief, as his land was paid for despite the sinister reputation he tried to convey to these two strange folk. In the end, however, he was paid more than he had asked, and he would forever remain silent as to any identifiable information concerning the new owners. He was to say only that it was an old man and his son who had purchased it, and that they were a reclusive family not overly fond of strangers. The land itself lay almost another day’s travel from their current location, so they traveled outwards perhaps two miles until the sun set and camped once more on the outskirts of this town’s farmland, which would be the closest civilization to where they planned to settle. And in the morning, they left to find their new life.

It was not hard to locate. Some superstitious farm folk had placed warding signs along the boundaries of the land. Tarrant had glanced at the first one in disdain. “That won’t even give me a cough,” he said as his coldfire obliterated any sign that it had ever been there. “I won’t have things like this surrounding our new home.” Damien looked at the spot where the totem used to stand and said, “Well, you know, perhaps it’d be a better idea to let them stay. People keep away from places they believe have a bad reputation. And things like what you just burned up only enhance the creepy factor for them.” A thoughtful moment passed between them before the adept replied, “There is merit to your argument. I shall leave any others as they are for now. This ‘creepy factor’ you mention _could_ very well play out in our favor.” He passed the place where the totem had stood and gazed out and into the wooded area where they were to make their new home.

It was a fair piece of land all around. Large and fertile, it had several small streams and a single larger one diverging throughout it. It was neither flat nor steep, with an even distribution of hills and rocky areas. It appeared that there had not been many human visitors in a goodly while due to the lack of any clear footpaths at the entrance to the wooded edge. Only small game trails led into the thick foliage. Gerald led the way, being by far the more experience woodsman, a fact that Damien couldn’t decide how he felt about due to the nature behind the acquisition of said experience.

They worked their way deep into the land’s heart, and when Tarrant declared they had reached an approximate center, they halted. It was late afternoon, and they scouted out the best area for a foundation. Damien left at one point to gather wood, and when he returned, he found that Tarrant had raised a small, one room stone house from the rocky soil. It even had a little window! _Of course, he doesn’t want to continue sleeping outside if he doesn’t have to,_ thought Damien. It was a quaint establishment. A small hearth was shaped into one wall and a pallet had been formed from a few extra blankets stuffed with leaves. Damien’s gaze wandered over the cozy little interior and then stopped on one detail. “Are those my shirts?!” he exclaimed, pointing to the pillows lying atop the ‘mattress.’ And he felt the adept’s arms slide around his waist from behind as the silky voice spoke softly into his hair, “Yes, but I shall have better made for you, my priest, do not fret.” Tilting back against the lean, yet muscled frame, Damien decided it wasn’t worth the argument as he turned to face his shirts’ murderer. And so the first half of the night fell wonderfully into place between them as they passed it by competing in various games as old as humankind…and demonkind for that matter.

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A noise outside the stone cottage awoke Damien near about four in the morning. “Uuhhhmmm?” he questioned unintelligibly, still drunk with dreams. The noise repeated, and this time he came more alert, and with his shift in consciousness, Gerald roused quickly as well. They lay there listening for a moment, the low firelight making their faces barely discernible to each other. Damien looked at Gerald and mouthed the word ‘haunted’ to him. Tarrant nodded, and flowed silently up and to the door. Damien followed behind him, but where the adept flowed, Damien clomped, which earned a searing glare from the other man. At a signal reached by use of the channel of their bond, they threw open the door and burst outside, each taking an opposite side of the cottage wall. Facing outward, with the moon casting its pale radiance across the small area in front of the cottage, they surveyed the woods for their nemesis, which revealed itself shortly thereafter as a man-shaped shadow moving through the woods towards them.

Tarrant stared out at the thing, questing with the fae to understand his adversary. And just as the light of understand flashed into his eyes, Damien decided to take the fight to the thing. With a yell, he launched himself at it. “No Damien, let me handle this!” Tarrant yelled futilely. The ex-priest made it only a few steps shy of the figure before falling to the ground with a cry of pain. He lay there curled in a ball and began to scream as though being attacked, grasping at the sides of his head as if trying to rid himself of a parasite. “Damien, it’s a fear-wraith! It will use your mind against you! Whatever you see, it isn’t _real_!” But Damien was already in the midst of conjured terror, crying out and shivering. He was beyond mortal communication. Tarrant stopped advancing toward Damien and instead locked his gaze on the humanoid form with an anger that resounded with violence. “This will be your last mistake, wraith-trash,” he whispered, and as he spoke a blue-black mist began seeping from his lips and twirled around and down his body. The air in the woods chilled considerably from one second to the next.

The wraith laughed, a hissing sound, and replied, “Mortal, come, I hold your worst fears here inside me. Come, and I will teach _you_ of mistakes.” It began moving toward Tarrant again slowly. As for the adept, every scream elicited from Damien’s throat burned his anger darker still, and the pain born of fear that bounded across their shared bond only further fueled the evil that yet bred within his deepest essence. The mist from his lips met with yet more that began to bloom around his legs, surrounding him in a wreath of foul blackness that would harm human eyes to even look upon. This ethereal stuff of nightmares seemed to pulse in rhythm with its master’s cold heart. The light in his eyes burned hotter than any fire ever could manage. Those twin pools of eternity shone molten silver and seemed to swirl with their own inner darkness. Closer still came the wraith, until it was but a pace away.

It glanced toward the writhing ex-priest before returning its attention to the Hunter, “Come, feel what fear dwells inside of _you_ mortal,” it breathed to Gerald. The air in the immediate vicinity of the adept had become so blackened as to be almost palpable, his anger frosting the air around him and causing the ground to crackle with ice crystals and shards. And then, the adept smiled. He smiled, and took a step forward, placing a hand upon the wraith’s chest. “Let me show _you_ something,” he whispered intimately to it. And with a deeply felt concussion of air, the adept opened his soul to the wraith. From the blackest and most vile evil pieces of himself, his memories, his very spirit, he poured forth such a deluge of evil as could never be adequately described by words breathed through mortal lips. It was the kind of darkness that only the soul can feel; and upon feeling, recoil from it. It is anathema to all spirited beings, their destruction incarnate once loosed, an inescapable insanity. No hope can ever spring forth from such a well of despair. Light and life are lost within its depths forever. And unto this creature the Hunter gave all, unto the very last dregs of shadow. Its mind was gone in mere seconds; its body then followed shortly thereafter, crumbling into ice crystals as fine as ash.

Tarrant shuddered once, a small quiver that raced through his tall frame, and the misty darkness faded back in towards him. He took a steadying breath as it all returned and then looked toward Damien. He moved to the other man’s side. _Unconscious_ , he thought, _and all the better for it for now_. Checking for signs of physical injury, Gerald found nothing but dirt and a few twigs. He quickly gathered the ex-priest into his arms and carried him back into their stone cottage to await his awakening.

It was perhaps two hours later when Damien finally awoke to the site of Tarrant leaned back against the wall beside him and quite obviously lost in thought. “This question may come as a shock to you, but, um, what happened?” the hazel eyed warrior inquired. Silver eyes snapped to the side to meet his own, and for a second he witnessed something frightening pass before them. It was gone just as quickly and Gerald recounted a basic rendition of events. “It was a fear-wraith. They feed in much the same manner as myself through the creation of nightmares and illusory horrors. They pull the soul through with the fear, though, and so leave their victim either dead or a zombie.” Damien thought it over for a second, and then asked, “So, how did you kill it?” The adept did not answer immediately and instead was quiet a moment, “I gave it my soul,” he replied simply. Damien sat bolt upright, “You did what?!” But before he could rise any further from bed, Tarrant had already rolled around and over the ex-knight which pushed him back to the pillow. Tarrant whispered to him as he held him down, looking into his eyes with a confused and, perhaps, sorrowful gaze, “I showed it my soul and fed it through to it. The thing was destroyed almost instantly. To put it simply, it just couldn’t compete with my brand of fear…my inner secrets.” Damien said nothing as they lay together then, figuring the adept desired closeness at the moment rather than vocal reassurances of his self-worth. Actually, Damien was unsure himself just where to place this man’s hat. Centuries of an evil so pure in its nature did not just vanish because _he_ wished it. Truly, it was so very terrifying to contemplate that he mostly never strayed into that line of thinking.

After a good while, Damien and Tarrant arose to greet the morning and begin planning for their eventual building on the site. When Damien stepped outside, however, he saw for the first time the results of the fear-wraith’s confrontation with the Hunter. In any direction he looked, there was at least twenty yards of cleared ground. Where the cleared portion ended, he could see that the first few trees were frozen solid black. Many were of a condition that one might suppose they had been struck by lightning, with shards of black iced wood erupting from the ground. All was silent as he turned and faced Tarrant who was busy looking anywhere but his direction. Damien took a breath to begin his exclamations and questions, but he was silenced by the adept’s raised hand. “Don’t Damien. Yes, this was me,” he said as he gestured at the open ground, “I suppose that…ahem, well…I was a small bit upset with that thing when it had you trapped.” Tarrant turned slightly to gauge the effect his words had had. Damien stood for a moment with a serious expression before looking up, and then he said happily, “Vulkin’ hell! You just saved me a month’s worth of land clearing Gerald!” And with that, the ex-priest walked off into the forest, whistling as he went, to find one of the small streams to wash off in. Gerald watched with amusement and said softly, “Well do I love thee, priest.”

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It took almost three months to complete the initial construction of the mansion. The foundational stone was brought up through the earth by Tarrant, and much of the walls were of the same composition. Trails were cleared for traveling through their land, and Damien mothered a small garden, though Tarrant maintained that they needed no such thing. Damien did notice, though, that the other man had spent more than his fair share of time cultivating a young sapling growing perhaps thirty feet or so from the door of their dwelling. He sometimes imagined he saw the adept whispering to it, but he was sure that Tarrant was just as eccentric as ever, and so it must mean nothing. The fact was, the construction was going splendidly, and Damien had never been more content and happy in his life. The beginnings of the mansion spanned the size of a small house, and they currently utilized the entryway as both sleeping quarters and living space. Tarrant maintained that the building of it would become easier in time once he had fully recovered from their trials of the last few years. It took longer to recover without either the Forest to replenish him or a steady supply of human emotion. He simply refused to use Damien as he once had. And so they lived and built and planned.

One cool spring evening, Damien called out to Tarrant and received no immediate answer. Setting down his cooking implements, he left the improvised kitchen in search of the adept. He found him where he had figured: standing at the base of the small sapling. Damien stood silently for a moment just drinking in the sight. With one a palm on the bark, eyes closed, and a relaxed posture Tarrant was beautiful as ever to the ex-priest. He hoped he would never forget the way it made him feel at this moment. After a minute or so, he approached slowly to the side of the adept, noting as he did that Tarrant seemed to be speaking softly to himself. “Stew’s almost ready,” he said as he drew alongside the other man. Tarrant’s eyes flew open and found Damien’s hazel ones staring intently. “Ah, just as well then. I was reciting some Terran poetry I had run across before. There are those who believe that plants respond to music and poetry, you know,” he said as he slid his arm around Damien’s waist and began to walk him back to their dwelling. “Are you sure you’re not up to something _Hunter_? You’ve been distracted lately, and you seem awfully suspicious out here on your own…” Damien joked chidingly. Tarrant spun himself to face the ex-priest, slid both arms around him, and whispered into his neck, “Nothing could ever distract me from you for too long, Damien. Let us go inside, and I will exhibit my lack of distractedness to you.”

Damien instantly melted to Tarrant’s words and charm, allowing himself to be led once more to the house. Happiness suffused his entire being in a flood of warmth. _This is still all so surreal. I can’t believe he’s mine!_ he thought to himself as he glanced askance at the adept beside him. Tarrant noticed the look and felt the fire within it. Softly, darkly, the adept purred, _See how easily you submit, my priest? You are mine, forever and always_. They continued on into the partially finished home with the sun barely still in sight, just as the dark fae was creeping out along the land. The doorway shut with a light click as the misty tendrils of fae crawled out and around the little home. All was quiet until, suddenly, there was a shift in the dark fae. Purple clouds and mist that had been drifting in innocuous patterns began to flow in a coordinated fashion, flowing out and around and…towards the sapling. Once meeting the sapling’s trunk, the fae melted into it as water to roots. The sapling shivered once, and a leaf fell to the ground…where three more sapling buds could just barely be discerned through the dirt…


End file.
